Brothers in Unison
by ImpulseFunWritinAnon
Summary: "papyrus, you still with me?" Papyrus gave a dramatic moan and fainted. "guess not." Sans stared at his unconscious brother. He sighed, shaking his head. You are not going to make things easy for me, are you, Pap? Anyway. "time to start counting." [AKA: Sans and Papyrus vs Genocide Frisk. Now COMPLETE!]
1. Prologue

"I will say this, be it obscure: the object in experience is at first the projection of a dramatic loss of self . . . [T]he image of the subject . . . tries at first to move towards its fellow being. But once it has entered into inner experience, it is in search of an object like itself reduced to interiority . . . [T]he subject, the experience of which is in itself and from the beginning dramatic (is the loss of self), needs to objectify this dramatic character. The situation of the object which the mind seeks needs to be objectively dramatized. Starting from the felicity of movements, it is possible to fix a vertiginous point ostensibly containing inwardly that which the world harbors as being heartrending, the continuous slipping of everything into Nothingness." - George Bataille, 'Inner Experience'

* * *

It was a frosty Tuesday morning in the peaceful town of Snowdin. Too peaceful—it was much too quiet today. Everybody else either has either tragically fallen down or ran away. The inn was vacant. The town square surrounding the decorated, lit tree was crowd-less. The noisy, active bar was shut down, with no one to tend, and no tender to man the bar. The Snowdin river was eerily silent—no one was there to lift and throw the manufactured giant, frozen cubes anymore. All that remained in the water were small ripples from the last one tossed, light waves gently caressing the riverbank as if the water knew it would be their last before becoming deathly still.

The path to the farthest east—a timber bridge—was shrouded in a blinding blizzard, clashing with the cool mist from Waterfall. In the midst stood two shadows on opposite sides of the bridge.

An androgynous-looking child, dark brunette fringe covering wild eyes; a flimsy weapon wielded in their right hand—they fiddled and rubbed the handle with deft fingers in anticipation. As the snow left a brief lapse of clarity in the surroundings, the powdery substance on the palms of their hands became evident; it was not the same as the snow settled upon their shoulders, but the dusty remains of their helpless, unaware victims.

On the other end stood the lanky, loud resident skeleton known as Papyrus. Peering into those wide, eager—dancing, twinkling—eyes from afar, it moved him.

With a shattering, dreadful honesty burrowed deep into his SOUL—it broke him. But Papyrus would never admit to this. Never.

Those who saw and breathed their last felt the abyss staring back—those who, that is, held basic common sense; not that it could save them before being struck down like fatally injured beasts of burden, without the mercy. Being who Papyrus was, of course, they saw some semblance of good in them, the same he almost always sees in others.

Almost.

Papyrus hated to admit it, but it was becoming increasingly apparent with each passing second that those eyes were_ definitely not_ without-a-shadow-of-a-doubt good like Undyne; or king-who-killed-humans-in-a-great-war-a-long-time-ago-and-now-is-a-big-fluffy-pushover good like Asgore . . . Or I-stole-a-cookie-from-the-cookie-jar-lied-about-it-all-day-long-fell-asleep-with-the-jar-in-bed-ate-all-the-cookies-and-lied-about-it-again-anyway good like Sans.

_ I mean, what type of good monster has eyes that eager, that enraptured, anyway? _

Papyrus dismissed his fears as best he could, putting on his bravest—and kindest—face. _This is the end of the line for that pesky human! _

(_Again. Like so many times before._ A silent observer watched with horror the encounter from afar. They felt the _again_ in their bones—an echo of times long since past . . . .)

Papyrus tried to reign in any remaining doubts he held as he took a furtive glance at the right palm of the human's hand that held . . . something. He forced himself to ignore it, shoulders held back proudly.

"HALT, HUMAN!" Papyrus began with aplomb. "I SEE THAT YOU HAVE MURDEROUS INTENT IN YOUR EYES!" His voice, unbeknownst to him, trembled as he spoke.

(_So much for subtlety—absolutely artless,_ thought the figure in hiding, face-palming. _I can't look. __I _shouldn't _continue to look._)

"I IMPLORE YOU, HUMAN, TO CONTEMPLATE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS! AND IF NOT, I CAN BE THE ONE TO GUIDE YOU TO HELP YOU DO SO!"

The child stared, their smile uncanny in its beatific, still nature.

Papyrus eyed the human's dusty palm—their_ palms! There's dust on their other hand, too!? That's it—I _must_ push forward! They need help! _

With brazenness that he did not really feel, Papyrus pushed forward, calling out to whatever goodness lay dormant within.

"YOU NEED SOMEBODY WHO CAN KEEP YOU ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW! I, THE GREAT, PAPYRUS, WILL KINDLY GIVE YOU THAT GUIDANCE SO THAT YOU NEED NOT CONTINUE TO WALK DOWN A DANGEROUS PATH. _I _SHALL BE YOUR FRIEND AND MENTOR!"

They took a step forward.

"YOU HAVE THAT CREEPY LOOK ON YOUR FACE AGAIN—STOP THAT!"

_ (Another step closer . . . .) _

"STOP MOVING WHILE I AM TRYING TO TALK SOME SENSE INTO YOU, HUMAN!"

_ (That's it, Frisk . . . Move closer . . . Closer . . .) _

Fear tingled down his spine—fear he has never known before. Papyrus chanced one last look at their eyes.

(_Yes . . . So close, Frisk. You know what you want to do . . . Do it . . .) _

Standing face-to-face, Papyrus saw it: It is not a human, but a monster staring back—one he has never known before; one that probably has taken a step towards the abyss, came back and found a gruesome, terrific way to fill the void in their corrupted SOUL—a powerful SOUL.

A_ deranged _SOUL.

(_We are so close, Frisk! Do it! Do it NOW!_)

Papyrus, scared out of his wits, was not going to take it any longer.

"OKAY, THAT'S IT—I'M OUT!"

Resolved, he refused to engage in battle. "I'M NOT GOING TO STAND THERE AND TAKE IT!"

Papyrus darted away, beginning his escape. He sprinted towards the dark, damp cavern. In his haste, Papyrus slipped on a patch of ice on the frigid cavern floor. His attempt to break his fall caused him to land on his arms and knees, hard. "UGH!"

He struggled to get up again.

Papyrus's bones roughened by the gravel of ice and rock, his knees weak, elbows aching, hands shaking, he felt a presence as he closed his eyes in pain; he dared not look up—yet, he did. The child stared right down at him fixedly, giggling as they took a disgusting amount of delight in his resistance, his plight.

"P-PLEASE, HUMAN!" begged Papyrus. "SHOW SOME MERCY!" He tried to get away, scuttling back across the gravel floor, his back hitting the cavern wall. "AND STOP GIVING ME THAT LOOK—IT'S CREEPING ME OUT!"

The child smiled, not so uncanny now; undoubtedly, it was a terrifying sight to behold, the worst in the world, that Papyrus ever lay eyes on.

They gently rubbed the weapon's handle again, seeing no need to move any closer; the shocked skeleton's actions lead to his downfall by backing away into a dark corner.

(_What an idiot. Isn't that right, Frisk? He's an idiot. Weak. Unable to protect himself. Wait no longer. Do it.) _

It suddenly dawned on Papyrus that there is no possible escape.

Papyrus looked around frantically, only to be met with walls on either side—cold, empty, devoid of life._ Just like home . . . Just like their _eyes _. . . _

Papyrus shook, horrified, crying out in desperation: "SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!"

But nobody came.

_ Sans, why have you left me? _

Exhaustion and despair piercing his SOUL, Papyrus accepted his fate.

The child raised their weapon in the air . . .

(_Yes . . .) _

Ready to deal the fatal blow . . .

(_Yes, YES! DO IT NOW, FRISK! DO IT!) _

And in the blink of an eye, Papyrus disappeared from their sight.

The child's smile fell. For a minute, they pondered over the situation. A scowl soon followed.

Then, a realization hit them—_it was_ _finally happening. _

The human yelled in frustration, kicking the slush of snow left behind. They knew, oh yes, they _knew _full well who would be capable of this spectacular feat.

And then, a horrible thing happened in quick sequence. As soon as the anger started, a new feeling took place:

Ecstasy. Intoxicating, wonderful, blissful,_ joyful _ecstasy.

_ Oh, how good, how challenging, how _alive _I feel at this new development! _

The child started giggling, turning into cackling, mounting into a crescendo of high-pitched, mad laughter. The demented cackling echoed loudly, reaching the depths of the cavern, instilling fear into every monster that resided there.

_ Oh, this is_ _going to be _good_, __my dear Frisk! _ This _is what you get for all your hard work, all your determination. To find what lays beneath unturned rocks_—_beneath all the possibilities. This is it! _

Thinking about the skeleton brothers' future demise filled them with determination.

The androgynous child marched onward, resuming their pursuit of mass genocide.

_ Undyne is next. _

* * *

Author's Note: Traffic's picked up. Leave a review, give critique, or gush about it. I'd like to credit TheAnnoyingDoggo from AO3 for shooting ideas with me regarding the story, and pointing out inconsistencies—thank you, it is very appreciated.


	2. The Time Has Come to Talk of Many Things

"The summit of joy is not joy, for, in joy, I sense the moment coming when it will end, while, in despair I sense only death coming: I have of it only an anguished desire, but a desire and no other desire. Despair is simple: it is the absence of hope, of all enticement. It is the state of deserted expanses and—I can imagine—of the sun . . . Noises of all sorts, cries, chatter, laughter—it is necessary that everything be lost within him, become empty of meaning in his despair . . . Intelligence, communication, supplicating misery, sacrifice . . . There is nothing which mustn't go to the appointed place of meeting. The strangest is despair, which paralyzes the rest and absorbs it into itself." - George Bataille, 'Inner Experience'

* * *

A few hours passed by. Papyrus was no longer bothered by the scrapes on his bones from earlier. In the nick of time, he was teleported to safety by none other than his elder brother, Sans. They had a short, but heated, exchange before their reticent walk to the golden corridor before the King's throne room. It was made explicitly clear to Papyrus: it was not a choice, but duty to continue as Sans did—as Sans _is_.

Sans and Papyrus have to face the human. Sans would not hear otherwise. He couldn't leave Papyrus alone anymore either for fear of the human's reprisal. Assuming Papyrus survived a_ second _encounter—there was no arguing about it; Papyrus had to reluctantly give in to Sans's insistence that Papyrus would _not_ be able to hold his own against the human, but just barely escape through the skin of their teeth—having Papyrus step back and watch disaster and tragedy unfold was out of the question. They had to stick together, all the way to the end.

Not so long after their chat, the skeleton brothers arrived at their final destination—before King Asgore's throne room.

The great, sun-lit stained-glass windows lightened the place with warm sunbeams. The royal hallway's elegant floor tiles were dazzling in the sunlight, pillars gracing the floor with their shadows. It was majestic, truly worthy of a royal entrance. Despite the beauty of it all, this corridor became a place for judgement. And alternatively, a place for execution.

Both brothers stood by each other, side by side, in absolute silence. They knew full well that this is their last stand, despite Papyrus's lack of knowledge. He could _feel _it—no other way to explain it. Papyrus shrugged it off, glaring at nothing in the far distance, uncharacteristically quiet.

Finally, one of them broke the uncomfortable silence. Sans, feeling compelled to have an actual conversation one last time with Papyrus before the final battle—_and _not being able to predict how it would go since this was entirely new territory for the both of them, and fearing the worst yet to come—spoke up.

"ready, papyrus?"

"NO," Papyrus said sharply. "AND I DON'T WANT TO BE."

_ I was afraid of this_, Sans thought with annoyance. He was beginning to regret starting a conversation with two words. _I mean, that should have been the safest way to start, right? But _of course _Pap would make life more difficult than it has to be. But he made my life easier, too. Just how much does he expect of me? _

_ Hopefully not much. _

"pap, we talked about this already."

"BUT I STILL LIKE THE HUMAN!"

"the human is dangerous. you've _seen_ what they have done. you _do _remember their eyes, yeah?"

Papyrus gasped at the thought and shortly fell silent again, frowning. Sans, relieved, expected the conversation to be at an end.

It took but a minute for the silence to break again.

"THERE IS GOOD IN THEM! I KNOW IT!"

_ Welp. I was wrong. _

"there is no doubt there is good somewhere inside of them, but that human is not _them_ anymore."

"AND HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?" asked Papyrus suspiciously, cocking his head to the side as he looked down at his shorter brother.

"i dunno."

"SANS!" Fed up, Papyrus turned to face Sans. "YOU _DO_ KNOW!" Papyrus's loud voice echoed throughout the corridor.

_ Why now? _

Sans hesitantly replied, "the truth is . . . i actually do not know."

"OKAY . . . THAT ANSWER IS A BIT DIFFERENT THAN WHAT I EXPECTED . . ." Papyrus said, taken aback. "AND SURPRISINGLY SERIOUS." Papyrus thought for a second. It was decided: Papyrus refused to let this be. He needed to know more, resolved to get answers. _More elaborated answers! How dare he keep The Great Papyrus in the dark! _"WAIT, SANS! I THOUGHT YOU EXPLAINED EVERYTHING TO ME ALREADY!"

"i didn't," admitted Sans with a heavy sigh. "i was only interested in getting you to come with me without any further questions." Sans paused. "difficult questions. difficult questions you may not want the answers to."

Papyrus scoffed impatiently. "THAT TIME IS OVER SANS." Barely mollified, he asked, "SO WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT?"

_ I guess this is it, _Sans thought. _Might as well let the cat out of the bag. _Sans spoke, appearing indifferent to Papyrus's confrontational tone:

"i have researched with others about alternative timelines. we have found timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting, until suddenly . . . everything ends. this phenomenon is still not fully understood. but it's an anomaly that we could not afford to lose track of."

"OTHERS? WE? WHO ARE TH—"

"they don't matter right now."

_ So that's how it's going to be! _"FINE. HOW DID YOU KNOW THIS MASSACRE WAS GOING TO HAPPEN? YOU TOLD ME BEFORE THAT YOU SAW IT HAPPEN BEFORE! IF SO, WHAT GIVES?"

"not exactly. i didn't see it happen. another sans did," Sans responded distantly.

Papyrus couldn't believe what he had just heard—Sans didn't answer his question. _But—wait just a moment! _"WAIT WHAT!?" The echo shook the delicate glass windows.

"another. sans. did." Sans stated emotionlessly.

_ This conversation is going to wind up too long. We need to focus on the present state of things, not my research. _Sans wasn't prepared for this at all.

"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT ANOTHER SANS DID? WHY ARE THERE OTHER SANS-ES!? WHERE DID THE OTHER ONE COME FROM ANYWAY!?" Papyrus's voice grew louder and louder with every question.

_ Papyrus, not here_, Sans begged internally, praying to cosmic creators for strength. He finally turned to face his towering brother. Sans's smile was ever-present, despite his resentment for these questions he brought on by his own actions. Sans watched his tone to hopefully soothe Papyrus, speaking calmly, "papyrus, please quiet down. these halls echo, ya know?"

Papyrus, realizing this, lowered his voice. "OOPS. SORRY."

Sans gave in to Papyrus's inquiry. "anyway, about the other sans. or more like, other sans-es. there are sans-es that have seen the best possible outcomes in their timelines. other sans-es were not as lucky. some stay stuck in the surface for a while longer, but at least with everybody alive. not so bad. some wind up with a smaller group of friends. the amount of friends get smaller and smaller until almost nobody else is left. then there are the sans-es that went through what we are going through. Except . . . this timeline, papyrus?"

"WHAT ABOUT IT?" Papyrus closed in on Sans. Not minding the invasion of personal space, Sans kept going.

"well. this is the first one where you actually survive. to my current knowledge."

"WAIT, ARE YOU SURE, SANS?" Papyrus gave it further thought. "BUT THAT MEANS . . ."

Papyrus didn't have to think too long to understand the dreadful implication.

Tears welled up in his eyes. "YOU ARE LYING!" Papyrus yelled out as he fell apart, overwhelmed by his own emotional collapse. "YOU _MUST _BE!"

Sans's frustration with himself was brimming inside. _I should have expected this . . . So why did I say something that would upset him? This is definitely not what I need right now—no. This is not what _we _need right now. I am no longer alone in this. Why did I not consider this before Papyrus started going in this direction? _Sans did not know where else to turn the conversation. Left with little choice but the harsh truth, he strayed from another path.

"no. no, i'm not lying, papyrus."

"YOU CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONE LEFT! YOU CAN'T BE WITHOUT . . ."

Sans knelt down to Papyrus's level, setting his hands gently upon his younger brother's shoulders. He made sure to look into his glistening eyes, and spoke curtly.

"not _me_—other sans-es. me?" Sans said softly: _ "i am with you."_

"BUT IT'S STILL _YOU _!" cried Papyrus. "I JUST," he sniffled, "CAN'T IMAGINE A WORLD WHERE I'M NOT THERE WITH YOU."

The words hit Sans harder than he thought they would.

Lost for words, Sans got back up. He turned around, pacing and thinking wistfully of better times.

"THIS IS SOMETHING THAT BOTHERS YOU, DOESN'T IT?"

Papyrus pushed, trying to be mindful of how Sans must be feeling. He couldn't yet be completely sure whether Sans was sensible to this or not—and if he was, _how much did it hurt? How much _does_ it still hurt? _

"it doesn't matter right now," Sans muttered, looking away.

Papyrus sniffed wetly, retorting firmly, "YOU KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT, BUT IT DOESN'T SHOW."

This sentimentality is unlike the Sans he has known in his lifetime, save for those sporadic moments, which really were just glimpses of those feelings, if anything. Papyrus couldn't stand seeing him like this. His crying fully under control, he went up to Sans, and turned him back around. He looked at Sans with a soft expression, disregarding his selfish curiosity of the unknown.

Sans found himself wrapped in Papyrus's embrace.

"SANS," began Papyrus, "YOU ARE WITH ME NOW. WE CAN MAKE THE MOST OF THIS TIMELINE. LIKE WHAT WE ARE DOING RIGHT NOW! ACTUALLY TALKING, AND NOT JUST PULLING PRANKS ON ME, OR SMALL INTERACTIONS HERE AND THERE—JAPES AND ALL—WHENEVER YOU FEEL LIKE IT. I . . . I MISS THESE KINDS OF CONVERSATIONS. I'M GLAD YOU'RE OPENING UP FOR ONCE IN A BLUE MOON!"

Sans's grin softened, genuine in his happiness. _Huh. This feels . . . nice. I don't think I can have regrets about this conversation anymore. It isn't so bad. After all, isn't this the kind of relationship what I wanted in the first place with my younger brother? The connection with his older brother that Papyrus deserves? Warts and all? _

Sans felt a huge burden lift off his shoulders. He let his guard down, fully willing to entertain Papyrus's questions.

"NOW PLEASE," Papyrus slowly pulled away from the hug, and stood upright, "INFORM ME FURTHER ON THE SANS-ES! HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THEM?"

Sans beamed, and began his reply. He felt at ease and relaxed, despite the casual exposure of controversial information.

"heh. just science stuff i do. might as well tell ya. i work with alphys every so often—i wind up with new information from her lab. alphys knows more about alternate timeline stuff than i do—or, at least I'd_ like_ to think she knows more than she lets on—but thing is, alphys doesn't suspect the human as much as i do. sometimes she thinks i'm paranoid for following them, even though she does the same thing, but with cameras instead."

"WAIT! YOU HAVE BEEN STALKING THE HUMAN? THAT'S CREEPY."

"not if . . ." Sans paused and thought quickly. _Think. Don't mention my job. Oh god. And I thought I could tell him everything for once. Of course not. Not that. _

_ Anything but that. _

Sans continued slowly. "not if i was suspecting that they could do anything to hurt others at any point in time. here is the thing: what i have personally learned is that the human can reset a timeline; they can even reset to create another timeline. everything makes sense on my end. the human is the anomaly we have witnessed in our research on the time-space continuum.

"so, of course i'm going to follow them everywhere they go. i can't in good conscience let a thing like that waltz around here now, can i?" Sans said with a wink.

"OH! THAT'S INTERESTING OF YOU TO DO."

_ Wow. That was easy. _Sans was relieved that Papyrus didn't notice the pause in the beginning. He suspected _nothing. _

"IN THAT CASE, DO YOU SAVE OTHERS IN OTHER TIMELINES?"

_ Or maybe not. _

"no."

"SO YOU STALK THE HUMAN, AND LET THE KILLING HAPPEN? WHY?"

_ Definitely not. _

"same reason i have in this timeline, except this time you found it within yourself to run. so i helped ya along. i couldn't watch you struggle. normally i would let these things happen."

Papyrus hmpthed. "IT'S WRONG THAT YOU ACTIVELY WATCH THE HUMAN, YET DON'T STOP THEM FROM THEIR PATH OF DESTRUCTION, HOWEVER LITTLE IT MAY BE!"

_ Absolutely not! _

"there is _very _little i can _realistically _do to convince them otherwise!" snapped Sans. "what, did you expect me to take the human out on a date, make friends, save them from their personal demons and live happily ever after?" he said with annoyance, starting to feel uneasy and struggling to keep his composure.

Taking a deep breath, he continued calmly—really, as calmly as he could possibly feel at this moment. "the most i _can _do to get them to stop is in snowdin. anything further than that and i would be endangering myself and everybody else _more_! ok, how about this: let's say i interfered after they killed you. it would make _everything _worse. _much worse _ —there would be _nobody else _to protect king asgore! there are only a few timelines that meet this end, but there are too far back from the rest to warrant any real concern. i learned my lesson, though at the suspense of other sans-es."

Papyrus gave Sans a bewildered stare, the rest of his face looking aghast.

"what?"

_ Oh. I just had to mention him. Damn it! Damn these uncomfortable questions and their truths! _

"ASGORE? WHERE DOES ASGORE FALL INTO THIS? DOES HE DIE IN THE BAD TIMELINES, TOO!?"

"everybody dies," said Sans coldly. "but asgore is the last to die, after . . ." Sans hesitated. _Boy, I'm doing a lot of that today. Fantastic. _He could see where this conversation was headed already.

"AFTER WHAT?"

"he dies . . . after i die."

". . . OH . . ."

Papyrus's expression turned glum. So glum, he seemed downright brokenhearted._ What did he expect? _"it's nice to know that i put up a fight before the inevitable happens though," Sans said quickly, trying to cheer up Papyrus; he was not going to let Papyrus wonder about his death too much—he didn't need a second go at trying to come to terms with it. The first time around Papyrus was strong enough to handle it, and Sans got the warmest hug for it. Somehow, he didn't think anything could give him enough peace of mind to push past this particular point softly. Death, in the endless loop he resided in, never would come knocking on the door—it always barged in. "almost every time. there are a few times where the human kills other sans-es without a scratch. now _that _is dirty. they probably practiced with the very same one over and over again until they became completely predictable to the human. isn't that—"

"SANS, ASSUMING THAT YOU ARE THE SECOND TO LAST TO DIE, DOES THAT MEAN UNDYNE IS LONG DEAD IN THOSE TIMELINES?"

_ You really know how to pick questions, Papyrus, _thought Sans sullenly. _Too bad they are awful reminders of lost timelines. _"yes," Sans replied tersely.

"DOES SHE PUT UP A FIGHT, TOO?" Papyrus asked eagerly, a little too curious about this particular question.

"yes. much more than the other sans-es do, actually. they don't ever have as much determination as she does."

"WHY NOT IF EVERYBODY ELSE IS DEAD?"

Sans winced. _The hard questions just keep on coming. _

"i guess because they know that eventually they will die. they don't ever give it their all. not once. just a strong attack at the beginning and another right before they are too tired to keep going."

"NOW I MUST ASK." Papyrus paused for a moment, then began his next line of questioning. "HOW DO YOU KNOW DETAILS LIKE THIS?"

_ Oh boy. _Sans was having difficulty trying to construct a clear answer in his head.

"you know that little feeling inside of you that seems to _know_ that the human can be good?"

"_LITTLE?_ AND SANS, OF COURSE I KNOW THAT THE HUMAN CAN BE GOOD!"

"papyrus, listen to me closely, and listen well: there is a difference between _hoping _they can be, and knowing absolutely, _without a shadow of a doubt, _that they _can_ be. from what i saw when you were confronting the human, you were not feeling quite sure of yourself. hell, you were hoping _for dear life._ usually . . ." Sans didn't bother to be sensible over the incoming blow, so dazed in the middle of all these questions that were so emotionally draining—so much more than Papyrus could imagine—that he didn't think to soften it at least a little. "the human strikes you down."

"T-THEY DO?" Papyrus stuttered, holding his hands against his face in horror.

"yes. and sometimes they even imitate sparing you, THEN strike you down. which is even more freaky."

Papyrus looked completely horror-struck—flabbergasted. Sans knew he was not letting Papyrus's deaths down gently on him. Hell, he _knew _he could have told him better than this.

_ But he has to know. _Needs_ to know. Besides, maybe this way I'll get less questions—let's see how he likes the feeling of near-constant existential dread! Papyrus has not been very sensible himself either. But exactly how is Papyrus to blame when he knew next to nothing? _

_ Whatever. It is too late to take back. _

"papyrus," Sans began softly, "your death . . . was not easy to accept initially. especially with the promise i made to you. whether i leave or watch you fall down in other timelines is unknown to me. this timeline, i felt i had to watch it happen. i was vainly hoping you'd call for me, yell for help, fight back—something. truth is . . . i was ready to see you die at the human's hands."

Papyrus flinched, facing away. "THAT . . . HURTS TO KNOW."

"i'm sorry. but it has happened too many times. it's too painful to count."

Crestfallen by the insensible delivery of his own death, Papyrus looked back at Sans with disdain. "YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLE," Papyrus uttered with disgust.

"what else can i say, pap?_ i can't change timelines. _i can't change the other sans-es either. they made their decisions—they _lived _with those decisions and the consequences of their actions. and that was that," Sans said with fatal finality.

"AGAIN WITH THE SANS-ES!"

Papyrus tried to shake off his negative feelings that were building up—he was feeling betrayed, angry, disappointed, sad, and confused all at once; he was nearly drowning in it. Yet, he knew better than to hold all this against Sans. He pushed for more answers to make up for Sans's callousness, but really more to keep from saying anything more hurtful than what he has already said.

"HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THEIR DECISIONS? HOW DO YOU SEE THESE THINGS HAPPEN IF YOU ARE NOT THERE IN THAT TIMELINE TO WITNESS THEM?"

"i don't see them happen." Sans shrugged. "i just feel it in my bones."

"THIS ISN'T THE TIME TO JOKE AROUND, SANS!" Papyrus's fierce voice echoed in the hallway once again.

"ok, not literally. i _do _feel it, the same way you feel somewhere deep inside that the human can be good. maybe it's because i've been one of the most involved in this mess and i got, what one would call, lucky."—_unlucky_, supplied a very reasonable part of him; Sans concurred whole-heartedly—"i guess i gained better perception for this kind of thing as a result of many repeats. call it . . . intuition."

"WELL . . . I _DO_ USUALLY SEE YOU'VE GOT A LOT TO THINK ABOUT. I SHOULDN'T BE SURPRISED. SO! I WAS WRONG THEN!" Papyrus said brightly. "NOT ALL THE TIMES I SEE YOU STARING INTO SPACE IS DAYDREAMING AFTER ALL!"

_ Of course you would be absolutely delighted by this news, Pap. Only you. _Sans grinned. "you're giving me too much credit," winked Sans and nudged his little brother playfully. "honestly, i'm taking a huge leap here as to why i know certain things more than others. i don't know everything. for example: the flower you keep talking about."

Sans felt a sudden, awful anger rising inside him as he thought about the flower. Out of everything he didn't know, this was a sore subject. How is it that a flower could up and just conveniently disappear whenever Sans turned up for longer than a few seconds? A flower that was so close to Papyrus that he swore they talked on a daily basis? This disturbed him greatly. It was much too suspicious for Sans. And Sans hated being so wary of a close friend of his brother's and having no clue as to what they were talking about—reality was, he hated_ not knowing _something about his younger brother; somebody he thought he knew inside and out! He could almost relate to Papyrus . . .

"about that. what's up with the flower?" asked Sans casually. "i know nothing about where it came from, who their close friends are—other than you—and I keep losing track of them. so. who are they?"

"THE FLOWER I SPEAK TO?" Papyrus quickly remembered. "OH YEAH! FLOWEY!"

"yeah. '_flowey'_," Sans uttered the name with animosity. It was his turn to ask the questions. "why does it talk to you? is it an echo flower?"

"NO, SANS! IT'S LIKE ONE OF THOSE GOLDEN FLOWERS THAT KING ASGORE REALLY LIKES!"

Papyrus seemed more than happy to talk about the mysterious flower. Sans got some sick sort of excitement out of it. _Finally, answers I want! _He wanted to get to the bottom of this while he still had the opportunity. Sans didn't like what Flowey was telling Papyrus. Even though he had no clue what it was they were talking about, Sans just had _that feeling _in his bones that it was nothing good.

"huh. strange."

"AND IT TALKS TO ME BECAUSE FLOWEY REALLY LIKES ME! THEY LIKE TALKING TO ME!"

"wonder why," Sans mused aloud, not realizing he had said anything.

"HEY! WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

"nothing."

"TELL ME!" A louder echo filled the great corridor.

"fine. you're overly trusting towards everybody and anybody, even the human. with that said, pap, it is not too far of a leap in logic here that sometimes, you tend to trust the wrong monsters!"

Papyrus glowered at the presumption—at Sans.

"look, for all we know, the flower is dangerous! why else would i not know them by now? it has been avoiding me for a long time. to be straight-forward: anybody that has been deliberately avoiding me for as long as they have, and _still _somehow ended up getting close to _you _without having met me even by accident, has cause to have a bad time with me!" Another thought popped into his head. "say, papyrus—any reason in particular as to why they haven't come up to talk to me?"

"NOT REALLY," said Papyrus, looking thoughtful. "FLOWEY JUST TELLS ME THAT IT'S BEST TO KEEP WHAT WE SAY BETWEEN US."

Sans sighed. "ok. fine. anyway, it seems 'flowey' is the least of our concern right now." _I guess I will have to find out for myself in another timeline. _

"SANS," Papyrus spoke up.

"yeah?"

"THIS PLACE. . . IS THIS WHERE YOU NORMALLY CONFRONT THE HUMAN?"

"yup."

"BROTHER?" Papyrus then raised his arms in the air, gesturing to the great hall around them. "WHY HERE?"

"this is the last major area the human must travel before getting to asgore. where else? i have enough room to fight here, and it is enough of a safe distance away from king asgore's throne room. plus, this corridor—it's breathtaking, isn't it? you can even hear birds singing outside."

"OUTSIDE?" Papyrus lightened up at the word. "WAIT, IS THAT WHY THE PLACE IS ALL YELLOW?"

_ I like these questions so much better. _Sans felt greatly alleviated, his SOUL feeling lighter than it had been all day. _So glad that's over. _

"yup! it's not the lights—it's the sun shining through the glass windows."

"WHAT'S THE SUN?"

"the sun is a big star that shines in the sky."

"WHAT'S THE SKY?"

"the sky is what the cave ceiling is to us, except it's wide-open and light-blue with fluffy clouds. you can't touch the sky."

"WOWIE! HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL THIS STUFF?"

"science," Sans winked with a light in his pupils.

"WHAT ARE BIRDS?"

"birds are tiny monsters that have wings and fly. they don't speak like us. they chirp and sing pretty little tunes to call to each other."

"THEY SOUND ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE! I WANT TO MEET THE BIRDS NOW!" Papyrus ran to the nearest window.

"i'd rather you not jump out the window!" Sans teleported in front of him, raising his voice in alarm and pushing Papyrus back. Hearing his own voice echo like Papyrus's had previously done made him feel silly. And amused. "i mean," Sans lowered his voice back to normal and grinned, looking sheepish, "if it were safe, we would be outside right now, don't ya think?"

Papyrus stood in front of Sans, deep in thought. "THAT IS TRUE."

Sans sighed with relief, leading his brother away from the stained-glass window and back to the center of the hallway. "any more questions?"

Papyrus took his time to think, pulled along by Sans to the center of the corridor. "NOT REALLY."

"ok. ready now, papyrus?"

They repositioned themselves right back to where they started.

"I STILL AM NOT READY, SANS."

Back to reality.

"they will be coming soon."

Back to the feeling of impending doom.

"I KNOW." Papyrus paused. "IS THERE REALLY NOTHING WE CAN DO TO CONVINCE THEM TO STOP?"

"nope," Sans replied, looking straight ahead. "if there was, they would have stopped their little genocide run long ago."

"I SEE."

Papyrus looked down again. Sans turned his head to look at the conflicted Papyrus. "do you?"

Papyrus looked back at Sans, frowning.

"I DON'T WANT TO."

"but you have to."

Sans returned his attention to the opposite side of the corridor.

"I KNOW."

And so did Papyrus.

"and even if you don't . . . well. you had no real choice in the matter as of the very moment i took you back from the cavern where you faced imminent death at the human's hands."

They stared off into the distance together, welcoming back the silence.

"it's almost that time."

"WHAT TIME?" Papyrus asked excitedly.

"a bad time," said Sans.

"WHO'S GOING TO HAVE IT?"

Sans turned to his brother, and winked at him, his grin wider (and wilder) than ever, the light in his pupils—gone.

"who else?"


	3. Desensitization: Step 1

"I was seeking nothing but the terror of evil, I wanted nothing but to have the feeling of destroying my capacity for inward peace." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

* * *

It was past noon.

Distant footsteps were heard from the opposite side of the golden corridor. Still standing at attention, they heeded the sound—the brothers' wait was soon coming to an end.

"heh. there they are," Sans said. _Look at them_—_waltzing right in here as if they were popping in for a cup of tea with the ki— _Wait! Don't_ look at them. _Echoes of memories of those eyes as he was fatally stabbed flashed before his eyes. Woozy and off-balance—just like he was near death like many times before—he staggered but regained his poise before Papyrus could notice. _Keep calm, Sans. You _have to_ stay calm. If not for myself, at least do it for him. It's the least I can do after the way I snapped at him earlier. I mean, cold sarcasm aside about the things I should or should not have done, did I _really_ need to unceremoniously announce Papyrus's past deaths to him? _He sighed inwardly.

_Not my proudest moment. Regardless . . . Pap needs to be stronger. God, the human! It has never been clean when wiping the floor with them. Wiping off their sadistic grin. Seeing the light leave their eyes, only for them to come back again_—_alive, feeling slighted, as if the world owed them something. Owed them entertainment. Sickos. That's what the anomaly is_—_sick. I wonder if Pap will mind the mess? No_—_he _will _mind the mess! Nothing that can be done about that. He'll have to either live with a flash of a memory, the same way I do, or . . . He'll suffer at first. A lot. _

_There's no easy way to go about this. Maybe I can try to keep it cleaner this time around? No Blasters out and about? Or all the Blasters to incinerate that little monster to bits? Or maybe just strike them on the head with a bone club and have it over and done with? No matter._

_They don't deserve a quick death. Not after what they nearly did to him._

_Best to reassure him and give him a bit of a heads-up._

"feel ready yet papyrus? because they are DEFINITELY not going to care otherwise."

The child took a few more steps, then stopped at a corner.

"SANS," Papyrus asked in a hushed voice. "WHAT ARE THEY DOING?"

_Oh. That. _"they are saving in their little spot, just in case they die on their first encounter against us." Sans stopped. His pupils dilated, shocked at his own words. _Us_.

Papyrus took notice of his elder brother's sudden emotional withdrawal—he thought he might even look sick.

He looked fretfully at Sans. "WHAT'S THE MATTER, SANS? YOU DON'T LOOK SO GOOD."

"it's just that, uh . . ." _Why must I feel like this? The human is right there! I've had hours to mentally prepare, so __why now__? __But of course: The answer is obvious._

_I _ _couldn't __mentally prepare to have my little brother alive and well with me_ _—_ _standing by my side to fight the anomaly who has killed him so many times before._

Sans faltered as he tried to answer, losing his calm composure. Sweat-beads were gathering on his forehead, shaken as he stared down at the floor wistfully.

"i've been used to being alone in this battle. it's the first time i've ever fought alongside somebody. and . . . i never thought it would be you. i always assumed the worst . . ."

He quickly gathered his wits about himself, sighed in relief and grinned at Papyrus. "yet here you are."

Papyrus grinned back. "I'M GLAD TO BE HERE WITH YOU!" _Isn't that the truth! _

_Despite our earlier discussion, I would not want to be anywhere else! God, I wish he weren't SO difficult when it comes to answering questions. Hard questions. Very hard questions that I didn't like the answers to, just like he said they would be. I HATE it when he's right! Sure, Sans died lots of times. And so did I. _And_ he let it happen_—_that no-good lazy-bones! But this time, I'm with him! Despite everything that has happened, and that cold demeanor that Sans seems to have recently adopted, and the fact that I'm STILL kinda mad at him for it, I can't say I regret being here. _

_I'm so scared, but I can't run away. He has been alone all this time. Without anybody. Without me. I can't leave, even if my SOUL yearns for a safe haven. Even if I want to just take Sans away with me to Grillby's, and have him sit around there with me trading bad jokes, riddles, and planning cool puzzles with each other until everything goes away. Until everything ends._

_No_—_I can't let him down now. I'm not a coward! The Great Papyrus NEVER backs down! . . . Wait! I already backed down! As recently as hours ago! _

_What does that make me then?_

Papyrus looked back ahead of his reverie, then frowned. The child resumed their stride—if they looked closely enough, the brothers might even see a spring in their step . . . .

The child leered at Sans and Papyrus more intently as they drew closer. They were so enraptured to see them—their face was an open-book, boldly showing their intent in being here.

"BUT NOT REALLY. BECAUSE WE HAVE THAT CREEPY HUMAN COMING UP TO US. LIKE RIGHT ABOUT—"

"—now."

The footsteps stopped at a fair distance away from the skeletons.

Their excitement at this uncharted timeline knew no bounds. "_SKELETONS!?_ I'm going to be fighting _TWO_ skeletons this time!?" They giggled with delight, then lay their gleaming eyes upon the short skeleton.

"Sans . . . buddy . . . pal . . . I missed seeing your smiling face so much . . ."

_I'm sure ya' did, kid. I'm sure you did. Once upon a time. _

They smiled sweetly, sending involuntary shivers down Sans's spine.

_But not anymore. _

_You are not Frisk. _

_Huh. That's their name, isn't it? Funny name, that. _Frisk._ Wonder how it came to me. I guess the same way those memories of alternate universes come to me. But those memories are old. So old. So lost have they become in the stream of time and space. So precious, so innocent those memories . . . But. That's long-since passed now. Those times have come and gone. _

_That human standing here before me . . . _

_That is not Frisk._

_". . . I will enjoy killing you again._ _"_

Frisk's eyes shifted to inspect Papyrus.

"_So here you are!_ Aren't you _excited_, Papyrus, to be dragged along into _your brother's side-job?_"

They snickered at a flummoxed Papyrus and ignored him, turning to Sans again.

"Too bad Papyrus is of no use to you—_h__e is an utterly inept, helpless, sorry-excuse for a monster, incapable of killing anybody._ Just _look__ at him!_ He is _shaking in his boots!"_

They paused, manifesting a sinister grin. _"Guess who I'm going to kill first?"_

"no one." Sans answered flatly. The child stifled derisive laughter—_not really trying though, are you, you dirty brother killer?_

"And how's _that_ going to happen? _Do tell me, Sans!_"

A gurgling sound could be heard coming from their mouth, unable to spit blood out—their jaw, broken by the blunt force from a particularly hard ivory spike that grazed their left cheek, gave Papyrus a shocking picture burned into his memory. Shards of bone (and teeth) broke through their skin, losing all semblance of humanity.

Devastating alabaster spears pierced the ground, unyielding, impaling the small human's frail body.

Sounds of tearing flesh echoed across the resplendent corridor as blood painted the nearby pillars, leaving the air with the musky scent of iron. The sanguine liquid swelled upon the ivory precipices before leaping to the ground like drops of rain. Their insides were ruptured, exposed —their perforated lungs were convulsing, leaking blood with every gasp. They let out an agonizing shriek as they were suspended in mid-air by the spires of elongated, sharp bones—the contents of their stomach dripped down one of them, their intestines on another, leaving a putrid stench in the air. Their writhing mangled body only served to drive the speared bones further in, their body secreting more blood as the child paled, going into shock. The child's broken wailing quavered into eerie keening whimpers.

A death rattle escaped the back of their gaping, bloodstained throat—which was bent at an impossible angle—until their body seized to struggle, save for some post-mortem spasms.

The bones then disappeared into thin air, causing the mutilated corpse to fall head-first on the ground. The blunt force from the fall cracked the top of their skull, spilling brain matter onto the scarlet-marred floor tiles. Papyrus looked down at the vile mixture of bodily secretions trickling around the tips of his boots, leaving stains in their wake.

"don't have to," Sans replied. "papyrus, you still with me?"

Papyrus gave a dramatic moan and fainted.

"guess not."

Sans stared at his unconscious brother. He sighed, shaking his head.

_You are not going to make things easy for me, are you, Pap?_

_Anyway._

"time to start counting."


	4. Desensitization: Step 2

"SANS, WHAT ARE THEY DOING?"

_Oh. That. _"they are saving in their little spot, just in case they die on their first encounter against us."

_Strange._ _I feel like I said this before. Well then: We must have been successful at least one time then. And so it begins. Again. _Yet Sans can't help but wonder . . .

"heya bro?"

"YES, SANS?"

"how are ya feeling?"

"SCARED!"

_Scared, huh? So maybe he _does _remember! I forget if he took the killing well or not. Didn't he faint or something like that? I somehow doubt he has fallen down last time. Did he help? _

_Probably not. But, what if I already have? Then what is there to do to make things right in the little time we have left, assuming we wipe the floor with the anomaly again? Was there even a 'we' last time around? _Whatever the case his rampant thoughts conceived, Papyrus can't afford to be faint of heart for the sake of his own survival. Maybe he just needs a little push . . .

"why's that?" inquired Sans.

Papyrus's eyes comically popped out of his eye-sockets, turning to face him. "BECAUSE THE HUMAN IS MARCHING TOWARDS US! THAT'S WHY, YOU BONEHEAD!"

_No matter what happens, he is still him. How . . . reassuring. Well, to hell with that_—_I refuse to let his heart be his downfall here! What I would give just to go back to Snowdin and give him a hand with those puzzles he loves to spend all his spare time on for the potential human intruder that passes through the Underground. Back when times were simpler. I guess if I took puzzle-building as a hobby, I'd be in a better state of mind. Or maybe that'd just be a sign of me going off the deep end._

_That's a pleasant enough thought_: _go to Grillby's, grab a bite to eat after shooting the airs with Grillby, put together some convoluted plan or contraption on a spare napkin for Papyrus to mess around with—maybe put more effort on my part so he will quit being on my back. Yes, that sounds absolutely ideal._

_Ideals—funny that. Idealists don't accept reality as it is_—_they always see something more beyond the reality of futile existence. Just like Papyrus. What they _don't_, or stubbornly refuse, to see is a very real, highly volatile force of nature walking towards them, dispelling _any _delusion of hope that they put down the knife and walk away, never to return. _

_No_—_that will never happen, _Sans thought heavily with a weary horror. _The human is too determined. Any glimmer of hope is for those that have not lived and died over and over again to see everything you have ever loved and cared for turn to dust. _

_Dust, huh? Aren't we all already dust? And even if we didn't have some megalomaniac wiping us all from the face of the Earth, we will all return to dust eventually. We are only prolonging the inevitable. So why bother?_

_It seems hope is something granted to those not yet fatigued enough to accept the way life is; it seems to be a necessity equal to breathing, eating and feeling_—_something that allows us to all be alive for just a while longer. I have long succumbed to the numbness that suffering naturally brings to those that have lost too much, seen too much, heard too much. I can't even envy those that dare to hope for a brighter tomorrow. So again, it begs the question: why do I continue to bother?_

_And the answer is staring me right in the face_—_Papyrus. How easy it is to forget that he is still here with me. So much for realists._

"heh. ok."

"UGH! WE HAVE NO TIME FOR THIS."

"sure we do," Sans winked. Papyrus heaved an exasperated sigh.

"I DON'T REMEMBER WHATEVER WE DID IF I'M INFERRING CORRECTLY FROM THE VERY LITTLE I GATHER FROM THE LIKES OF _YOU_."

"neither do i. but don't you at least feel like you've said the same thing before?"

"NO."

"it must take more times then," Sans murmured to himself.

"MAYBE NOT!"

"i hope not, as i would like for us to be in this together."

"AREN'T WE ALREADY IN THIS TOGETHER?"

Sans hesitated. "not quite."

The footsteps stopped at a fair distance away from the skeletons.

"heya," Sans greeted. "you look frustrated about something."

The child felt the urge to reply but bit their tongue. Frisk (_or whatever they are,_ scoffed Sans) looked rather peeved and scowled.

Sans's pupils faded. "want to talk about it?"

They let out a furious yell, charging towards Papyrus first.

The battle was on.

Sans gave them a weird look; he could feel the devil's child was different in their tactics than in previous genocide timelines.

"uh, that's not how it works kid. you attack me first. but, if you really want to . . ."

Suddenly—a blink. _(You absolutely detestable, good-for-nothing, bag of bo—)_

Great, intimidating maws appeared from four sides surrounding the human. In the face of danger—sure to be their death—they barely made it out of the Blasters' range. They cried out in pain as their life force drained from their body.

Papyrus was not having it.

"SANS!" Papyrus shrieked. "WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING!?"

"just helping ya out. wanna give me a hand here?"

Papyrus, uncertain, looked away from Sans. He glanced at the child rolling on the ground, their face scrunched up in pain. _God, that looks like it _really _hurt. As if Sans _meant it _to hurt. Really hurt._

_I never took him for a sadist._

"I-I'M NOT SURE, BROTHER."

Frisk scrambled to get back up, gritting their teeth. Their eyes lit up with newfound ire.

Sans felt himself sinking. _DAMN IT ALL, PAPYRUS! Move! Now! _"better be sure right now!"

"It's _my_ _turn_ now, Sans! Your brother won't last _a minute _with me."

"go on, keep talking. i wanna hear allllll about it," Sans taunted. "do tell me, kid, pal, buddy of mine!"

A harsh laugh reverberated, and grinned. "I _know_ what you're trying to do, _Sans_, but it _isn't going to work_. _Your brother is DUST!_" _(After all, aren't we all just that_—_we all return to it! Ashes to ashes! Dust to dust! Sans is only prolonging the inevitable demise of them both. The sweet release of death._

_Oh, how I will _love _to see them fall!)_

Sans felt a pang of pain from within—conflicted. He couldn't force Papyrus to fight, not even at a time like this. He promised he wouldn't, yet here they were. _I have to say something. Papyrus needs some sort of initiative to at the very least defend himself. He is fully capable of it . . . so, _why won't he do it?

Sans couldn't react on impulse anymore—his brother's life was at stake.

"papyrus," started Sans, his patience thinning, "i won't hesitate to kill them if they get close to you. afterall . . . " Sans's pupils disappeared, leaving a fathomless, empty stare—a deathly glare—fixed straight at the human.

"_that's what happened last time._"

Papyrus's eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and dared to look at the child's face; they were clearly angry, yet he observed twitchy fingers and eyelids—it was . . . discomfort. Something must have happened that made them so uneasy, so discomfited by Sans's statement.

"SANS," Papyrus said tentatively, "DID YOU KILL THE HUMAN ALREADY? AND IF SO," his voice rose at the realization that his brother was keeping vital information from him, "HOW MANY TIMES!?"

"from i gather," Sans pondered for a second, then responded casually. "just once."

"D-DID I HURT THEM?"

"nope.

"SO YOU DID!" Papyrus yelled accusingly.

"who else bro."

"WHY?" Papyrus asked with contempt.

"from what i can tell, i guess i must have gotten impatient from them talking too much." Sans shrugged carelessly. "i'm used to them being so quiet, and well . . ." To Papyrus's horror, his brother's disposition changed dramatically—eyes empty again, he spoke calmly, deliberately . . . slowly, with a deathly calm: "_i don' t take kindly to somebody threatening_"—Sans's left pupil flashed in a hue of blue and yellow, turning the child's SOUL blue—"_to kill_"—Sans raised his left arm out of his pocket—"_my brother._" Sans proceeded to fling the human across the room recklessly onto high stone pillars, and each time summoning bones to impale them with after each unforgiving slam. It kept going,

_CRASH_

over,

_CRACK_

and over,

_CRUNCH_

and over,

(An agonized scream, unlike anything Papyrus heard, rent the air.)

and over again—until the human bled from nearly every orifice, skin badly discolored all over their body from the heavy battering they have endured; their bruises were swelling with ghastly, torn wounds opening up, some ripped and revealing bone. They lay there almost motionless on the ground, struggling to get up despite their present state. Sans marched towards them as the child attempted to grab the knife, not so subtly. Sans took control of it instantly, flinging it carelessly aside, consequently slamming them against another pillar with a very audible, sickening crack. Sans wanted them brain-dead—beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt dead. It's too much to see for Papyrus.

Yet he could not stop staring.

"c'mon bro. your turn." Sans grabbed the human, and threw them in front of an appalled Papyrus, frozen in place with revulsion and terror.

"BUT T-THEY ALREADY LOOK . . . DEAD," Papyrus muttered weakly, taking notice of the gushing, sizeable crack at the back of the child's skull—the split emitted brain matter and a scarlet, thick liquid. _I'm going to be sick,_ he thought, averting his gaze for a second. Again, he couldn't _not_ look for very long.

"heh thanks. but they aren't. not yet." They both stood silently. Papyrus kept their eye sockets on the child's bleeding, heavily traumatized body.

Sans closed his eyes, letting out a weary sigh. "i need you to do it. i can't be doing all the legwork, ya know? it'll tire me out. just one more hit from ya will do it."

Papyrus took a deep, shaky breath, picking up the human gently from the ground. "EVEN IF IT'S JUST ONE HIT, WOULDN'T THIS . . . GIVE ME LOVE? NOT LOVE, BUT YOU KNOW . . . 'LOVE'?"

"what other choice do you have bro?" Sans began coldly. "besides, assuming the human decides to RESET again, you wouldn't have gained any LOVE a few minutes prior. you'll be fine."

Papyrus knelt on the ground, slowly setting the human down in front of him as they let out raspy, strained breaths. "get it over with, pap. think of them as . . . _a little pincushion._"

Papyrus glared up at Sans, indignant and horrified with his callous, heartless behavior. "SANS!"

"have it your way. think of them however you want—_like a dead body._"

"SANS! STOP ACTING CREEPY!"

The child's breaths began to pick up slightly; they must have heard them, realizing that their time of execution neared. Papyrus knew they couldn't wait much longer, but god, he wanted, needed, to wait longer before the final act, before—

"_in front of you._"

Papyrus shrieked at the feeble but calculated movement of the child's arm; through sheer instinct, he instantaneously evoked a cage of blunt, arduous bones. Blood splattered onto Papyrus, a pool building beneath his knees. The violent clash of flesh and bone tore and mutilated the human beyond saving, beyond recognition, laying there as a shapeless mound of muscle tissue, guts, and loose sinew. Sans, desensitized to this a long time ago, didn't react. Papyrus wailed and keened with abandon as they grieved the loss of a friend, murderous as they were—he more so grieved for all that could have been, what could have been saved. There was no comfort in sight; Sans looked on with apathy, the lights in his eyes lost in the pitch-black eyesockets.

"you'll get over it."

Papyrus wrapped his arms around the corpse, clinging onto the human like never before—because he has never has been given the chance to; Sans knew this wasn't the first embrace, nor will it be the last if they all survive this through some crazy streak of luck. Papyrus slowly turned his head, revealing his blood-stained face, cold and hard—_so unlike him,_ thought Sans. He uttered three words he never wishes to hear ever again in his life: "I HATE YOU."

Sans's demeanor didn't change. "count with me, bro. two."

"NO."

"two."

"NO!"

"_**two.**_"

"_SHUT UP!_"

"_**start counting.**_"

"_STOP!_ THIS IS ALL A NIGHTMARE! THIS HAS TO BE! YOU CAN'T BE LIKE THIS! I CAN'T . . ." Papyrus panicked, his breaths becoming erratic—he felt like his firm grasp to sanity was loosening; he was sure to lose it if none of this stopped any time soon. "I COULDN'T HAVE KILLED THE HUMAN! I DIDN'T!"

"_look in front of you. __**you did it.**_"

"_STOP DOING THAT!_"

"_then count with me._"

He stared—thoughts stuck in a loop of tumultuous emotions, wondering what terrible power out there would put them in this hell—at the brother he thought he knew, but never did.

"_**two.**_"

Papyrus let out a shaky sigh, tormented by his actions, and his impassive brother.

" . . . TWO," he uttered, an unnatural despondency springing from within, the future's certitude and everything Papyrus has ever known collapsing around him.


	5. Desensitization: Step 3

"SANS, WHAT ARE THEY DOING—? OH—!"

Papyrus suddenly felt light-headed, groaning from the dizzying sensation. Sans kept staring straight ahead, unaffected. "they are saving in their little spot, just in case they die on their first encounter against us." Sans looked at him, concerned. "you ok bro?"

"UGH, YEAH. JUST A LITTLE DIZZY IS ALL. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS ABOUT . . ." Papyrus paused, putting his hand to his chin in contemplation. "HMM. HAS THIS HAPPENED BEFORE?"

"maybe. did ya count with me?"

"I'M NOT SURE, BROTHER. ARE WE AT TWO?"

"that's right."

"OH MY GOD . . ." said Papyrus, visibly shaken—and sick. ". . . HOW MANY MORE TIMES, SANS?" he whispered.

"as long as that human desires," answered Sans. "could be ten. could be fifty," he said casually, "or a hundred. we probably will lose count by then."

Papyrus put his hand do the center of his chest, closing his eyes. He felt the pang of a time of suffering. "DID I— SANS, TELL ME," said Papyrus, voice low. "_DID I KILL THE HUMAN . . . ?"_

Sans inwardly panicked, the lingering silence confirming what Papyrus suspected, then, realization reared its ugly head on Papyrus.

"SANS . . ." he said again. "DID YOU MAKE ME KILL THEM?"

"does it matter now papyrus?" said Sans, looking at the approaching anomaly.

"I guess . . ." Papyrus uttered a lamenting sigh, mentally readying himself for what was to come by putting aside any and all despairing thoughts. "NOT ANYMORE."

The footsteps stopped at a fair distance away from the skeletons.

"hmm," began Sans with mock contemplation. "that expression . . . that's the expression of someone who has died two times in a row."

"BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY, HUMAN!" Papyrus added brightly. "THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM!"

"heh," chuckled Sans, his SOUL lighter. Just as suddenly, his pupils disappeared, eye-sockets as empty and black as his every past death. "maybe this time they won't come back."

A fierce cry rent the air, the human shrieking: "I'm_ going to kill you both!"_

Sans sighed, irritated by a third inconsistency. He has gotten so used to all previous timelines that Sans began to lose his patience.

"don't you ever stop talking?"

The child yelled savagely, lunging at Sans first.

"finally!" said Sans with false cheer. "pal. buddy. come give me a hug!"

"HA! As if I'll ever hug you,_ child murderer. _Papyrus, guess what? _Sans's job is_—"

In a blink, their SOUL turned dark blue. Papyrus noticed the knife off by a nearby pillar, leaving the human disarmed. _Sans is— _hugging them?

**"_you are as good as dead._"**

A copse of bones ripped through their chest. The impact of the attack splashing and spattering the gold window panes. Crimson oozed out of the body, dousing the splintered femurs and tibias thickly with blood, adorned in remnants of the human's organs; their penetrated SOUL, skewered on a brittle-thin humerus, glittered grotesquely with the light of the sun, stray rays showcasing errant droplets on Sans's sky-blue hoodie.

He pushed their body off of him in disgust, uttering: "three."

"OH . . ." Papyrus said weakly. "OH MY— OH MY GOD—!"

Papyrus hurried to see to the human. Sans stood by idly, watching him lift the disfigured, blood-soaked corpse by its SOUL, gently drifting it by the wall. Papyrus felt numb, unable to process what happened. He felt reality flicker on and off behind his eyes, on the verge of fainting—to fall asleep.

A moment's silence elapsed for what seemed like eons. "SANS," he finally said. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

Without himself noticing, Papyrus started crying, holding on to the human in a stead-fast embrace, painting his white cuirass iron-red. Tears dropped onto the human's brown hair, lank and sticky with sweat and blood. Papyrus caressed their hair anyway, unable to comfort them in death. "YOU DIDN'T EVEN LET THEM FINISH WHAT THEY HAD TO SAY," he said in a broken whisper.

"they were talking too much," said Sans, sounding stoic despite what transpired. "usually they are silent. i wasn't interested in hearing anything they had to say."

Papyrus, outraged at his brother's callous behavior, sent him a withering glare, glowering. "HOW COULD YOU BE SO APATHETIC TOWARDS THE HUMAN!? JUST LOOK AT THEM! THEY ARE—"

"—dangerous," interrupted Sans. "the human went on a killing spree, pap, thinking they were above the consequences," he said, willing Papyrus to listen. "they were wrong. why continue with the friendly facade when their only goal in mind was to bait us into attacking first?"

"BECAUSE THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN— THEY— THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN . . ."

Papyrus looked aside, looking troubled. With that, Sans stated calmly: "pap . . . they were planning to kill us ever since we left snowdin."

"NO! GOD, YOU ARE HORRIBLE!" yelled Papyrus. "HOW WOULD YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!?"

"didn't i tell you already?" said Sans coldly. "i can feel it in my bones."

"THAT'S IT! YOU ARE SO CRUEL! YOU. . ." Papyrus, in his hurt, pointed at Sans with scorn. "YOU ARE ALMOST JUST AS BAD AS THE HUMAN!"

Sans then felt just as cold as his words, his SOUL taut with a horrible tension, freezing. The affliction filled him with a prickling dejection all over, affixed to him like the sharpest and most stubborn of splinters. "you don't mean that," whispered Sans.

"I DO," spat Papyrus. "I HATE THAT YOU DID THIS!"

Remembering an essential element in the upcoming battle, Sans lightened up but for a moment in grim anticipation. "you won't for long."

"OHHH!" groaned Papyrus, his patience strained to its limits. "SO NOW YOU KNOW WHAT I'M THINKING IN THE FUTURE! ENTERTAIN ME SANS: HOW DO YOU KNOW!?"

"remember what the human was doing in that little corner over there?" Sans pointed off into the distance.

Papyrus rolled his eyes. "YES BROTHER, THEY WERE SAVING," said Papyrus like a petulant child. "WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH THIS!?"

"that you won't remember being mean to me."

Papyrus froze, mouth agape. "WAIT A SECOND," Papyrus put the corpse off to the side." DOES THAT MEAN THAT THE HUMAN IS . . . NOT REALLY DEAD?"

Sans sauntered towards the mangled, foul body, reeking of iron and fetid bodily secretions, debauched not just in mind and soul. "they are dead right now, aren't they?" said Sans, then proceeded to kick their ruined face, staining the right tip of his pink, fluffy slipper with blood from cracking the human's crooked nose. "whoops."

"SAAANS!" gasped Papyrus indignantly. "HOW— HOW DARE YOU—!"

"c'mon bro. count with me again. **_three._**"

Papyrus, with a pitiful sob, whimpered out the number with a stammer:

"_. . . T-THREE . . ._"


	6. Desensitization: Step 4

"SANS, WHAT ARE THEY DOING?"

No response.

"SANS?"

Papyrus, expecting an answer, turned to face him, bothered by Sans's expression. "SANS?"

"huh? oh," Sans slowly came to. "you are here. i mean," he said almost sheepishly, "we are here."

Papyrus frowned at Sans's odd response. "ARE YOU OKAY?"

Sans regained his presence of mind. _I have to know._ _God, I just have to know. _"do you remember anything from last time?"

"LAST TIME?" asked Papyrus, perplexed. "WHAT ABOUT IT?"

"nevermind," said Sans quickly. "it's nothing."

Papyrus gawked at Sans with intense scrutiny. His elder brother's distant mood made him push the matter further. "HEY." Sans said nothing. "HEY!"

Sans finally looked back. _Something is wrong, _Papyrus thought, concerned by his mute and stiff countenance.

"BROTHER," Papyrus said uncharacteristically carefully, "WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME THAT IS MAKING YOU ACT THIS WAY?"

For a moment, Papyrus swore he saw the light in his brother's eyes dim nearly to pinpricks, looking bleary, the rounded corners almost glistening with something unexpressed; something unfathomable lay beyond there, and for the life of him, Papyrus could not reach that light. Noticing this, Sans responded, all semblance of weakness lost. "not right now papyrus," he said, shifting his attention instantaneously. "it's time."

The footsteps stopped at a fair distance from the skeletons. "heya," greeted Sans.

The child stared daggers at Sans, hardening their grip on the ancient knife.

"heh. cat got your tongue?" asked Sans, bold as brass. "or was it your heart?"

The implication of their last encounter motivated them to take a loud step forward, an eerie yet petulant _clack! _echoing in response.

Sans chuckled darkly. "see, this is what i think kid. you keep giving me this angry look when i mention anything talking-related. have you been talking a lot lately?_"_ The child spat at the ground. "i will take that as a yes."

"SANS," spoke up Papyrus, "I BELIEVE I GOT MAD AT YOU, ONCE—TWICE!—UPON A TIME. ISN'T THAT RIGHT?"

"yes," said Sans tentatively.

"AND IF I RECALL CORRECTLY, OH DEAR BROTHER OF MINE," continued Papyrus airily with a bow, "DID THEY HAPPEN TO DIE A TOTAL OF THREE TIMES?"

"good job bro," said Sans, winking with a twinkle in his eye. "you seem to be really picking up on this."

Papyrus glared at him; despite all appearances, he remained unhappy with Sans. "I'M NOT LIKING IT," he said under his breath.

"no one said you would," said Sans in a low voice, shooting Papyrus a fleeting look from the corner of his eye—his expression hard as stone. "now you either fight with me or stand aside. i'm not in the mood for this."

Then, they heard a high-pitched noise. Quickly, the brothers tried to identify the source. But it was obvious: it was_ them._

The child simpered, giggling wickedly still, eliciting a sharp glance from them both. Before long, to their shock and horror, the laughing escalated into a fit of shrill cackling, the unearthly sound ringing across the grand hall.

"Yes! Keep on fighting, you two!" they said gleefully. _"It's so nice to see you both fall apart." _Gazing at them dangerously, smile crooked and predatory, they eyed the taller of the brothers. _"Do you love your brother, Papyrus? Or is there no love lost between you? Or,"_ the human continued, grinning wolfishly,_ "do you wish to gain it?"_

Papyrus hated the implication the child made. "I WOULD NEVER HURT MY BROTHER, DESPITE WHAT HE HAS DONE! ALL HE KNOWS NOW IS RESORTING TO VIOLENCE, BUT," Papyrus peered at Sans, saying confidently, "I FORGIVE HIM."

"But how many times will you forgive him?" the child questioned, relentless. "How many times will it take until you hate your lazy brother with every fiber of your being?Maybe after this little shindig, you will actually hate him!_ Look at him, Papyrus. _He is_ fuming_—_he wants to tear me apart. _Sans is probably holding back," they whispered, _"just for you."_

Sans stepped forward, furious, Papyrus struggling to hold him back as Sans pulled and jerked. "HAHAHA!" laughed the human. "Oh god, _you are so pathetic!_ What did Papyrus say last time that hurt you so much? It's too bad I wasn't there for it." They stopped, speaking spitefully. "_I would have loved to hear it. I would have loved to see your reaction. I WOULD HAVE LOVED_—"

With unrelenting malice, more than a dozen blasters appeared in a circular formation around the human. They fired all at once, dealing unbelievably scorching blasts; a violent tremor shook the corridor, the deafening attack echoing endlessly. The windows exploded, shards of glass raining down upon the brothers—the pulsating waves of sound from the cataclysmic onslaught resonated long after the damage was done as if trying to shatter up the heavens with it. The human lay on the floor, charred beyond recognition—the smell of burning flesh danced in the air, aided by the rush of gales from outside. Papyrus looked around him, as sunbeams lit the blindingly reflective floor tiles.

It was—truly—a beautiful day outside.

"FOUR."

Sans fell to the ground, cast down by Papyrus's drastic change in demeanor. _Where is my brother? _". . . papyrus . . ."

Papyrus stared outside. The sun's brilliance did nothing to fill his emptiness. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, SANS?" he said, voice monotone, feeling numb. "DID YOU WANT THIS?"

Sans closed his eyes. ". . . i never asked for any of this to happen."

"YOU WANTED ME TO ATTACK THE HUMAN. YOU WANTED ME TO BE ABLE TO KILL, RIGHT?"

"it's not like that!"

"IS IT!?"

"no!"

"THEN WHAT WAS IT!?"

"i just didn't want you to DIE!"

"WELL I DIDN'T!"

Sans fell silent. ". . . do you hate me?" asked Sans in a whisper.

". . . NO. BUT," Papyrus said, giving Sans a critical look. "I AM GREATLY DISAPPOINTED WITH YOU."

". . . let's just . . . get this over with." Sans got up, pushing off his distress. Papyrus was right—this is what he wanted. "four."


	7. Desensitization: Step 5

Silence.

Footsteps.

A smile.

More silence.

"SANS!"

Sans whipped around, wanting to check on Papyrus. "what—"

"THE HUMAN IS APPROACHING!"

"oh," said Sans, dumbfounded. "right."

"WHAT'S THE MATTER, SANS?" asked Papyrus, some of the concern lost amid the lack of warmth in his voice. "YOU DON'T LOOK SO GOOD."

"you don't either," Sans said, deflecting.

"TOUCHE," said Papyrus humorlessly.

"i'm sorry, papyrus," Sans blurted out, his wits scattered and his aloof facade broken apart as more memories came back to him. The destruction, the glass raining down on them like the sharpest pointed-hail, the blood— "i shouldn't have you pushed that far. it was wrong of me to expect you to kill in cold blood. without remorse."

"SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE I— BEFORE I . . ."

"don't," interrupted Sans. "you're alive. we"—Sans brought his hands to his younger brother's arms in a grip, wanting him to see sense—"are alive. isn't that what matters most?"

Papyrus's eyes darted away, looking profoundly sad. "YES," he said. "YES, IT MATTERS."

The shuffle of shoes echoed out towards them. "pap," Sans said, dreading each footfall. "papyrus, look at me!"—Papyrus, thankfully, did, although he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here—"it's time."

Papyrus shook his head as if trying to shoo away a bothersome fly. "THAT IT IS, BROTHER," said Papyrus with a fierce glint in his eyes as he looked past Sans. "THAT IT IS."

"good," sighed Sans. "i'll talk to Frisk—"

"HEY! HUMAN!"

Frisk, their smile fading, looked at Papyrus with a tilt of his head, curious.

"CATCH!"

And with an adroit swing of his arm, Papyrus flung a conjured scapula—shoulder blade keen-edged as if it were recently whetted to its max sharpness—the honed bone-merang coming back blindingly fast to his raised red-gloved right hand.

The small body still standing at attention, as blood poured slowly out like tears from a scarlet line across their neck—Sans looking on in astonishment—human and head separated, cleanly decapitated, the child's eyes wide with shock, mouth agape in permanent terror.

"oh my god," gasped Sans, fingers involuntarily feeling at his own neck bones in sympathy. "papyrus, you— you did it! but," he looked up at Papyrus, the same fiery expression fixed on his face, "why?"

Before Papyrus could respond, a droplet of dark-red landed on his right cheekbone. Gloved hand still raised high in the air, Sans finally noticed: blood—it dropped in a steady stream from the scapula-turned deathly boomerang, splashing down upon his younger brother's infuriated face. Papyrus brought his arm down sedately, narrowed eyes boring into the weapon that spilt not-so-innocent blood as if it held all the answers in the universe.

Belatedly, Papyrus uttered numbly, "BECAUSE IT'S THEIR FAULT, SANS. IT'S THEIR FAULT THAT YOU HAVE BEHAVED THE WAY YOU HAVE. THEIR FAULT FOR MAKING ME A MURDERER."

He vanished the bone-merang, looking at the corpse bleeding out litters of thick brown-red upon the sun-lit floor, continuing: "I KNOW I'VE SHOWN EXCITEMENT AT THE PROSPECT OF CAPTURING A HUMAN. TO BE LIKE UNDYNE. BRAVE, LOYAL, AWESOME UNDYNE. BUT SHE KILLED HUMANS. IT NEVER ONCE CROSSED MY MIND, SANS, WHAT IT COST TO KILL ANYBODY. NOW I KNOW." Papyrus suddenly looked at Sans, eyes lit like a roaring fire. "IT'S THE HUMAN'S FAULT WE MUST KILL. IT'S THEIR FAULT THAT I HAD TO KILL.

"I DON'T HATE YOU, SANS. I COULD NEVER. AND DEEP INSIDE MY SOUL I KNOW," said Papyrus, grinning darkly, "I DON'T REGRET THIS EITHER. IT'S EITHER US OR THEM, DEAR BROTHER! AND I, FOR ONE," Papyrus declared boldly, back to himself again, his stature set in a heroic pose as Sans paid rapt attention, eyes looking up at him with utmost reverence, "AM GOING TO DO MY DAMNEDEST TO MAKE SURE NO HUMAN HURTS EITHER ONE OF US EVER AGAIN!

"COUNT WITH ME, BROTHER!"

Hooking his right arm to his eldest brother's left, elbows locked together, Sans yelled out proudly with his younger brother, "FIVE!"

* * *

"I hovered in permanent anguish and, in my anguish, I yielded over and over again to the desire to be the object of my own horror." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

Author's Note: Do leave a review, critique, comment, and the like, especially if you liked it (you know what I mean).


	8. You are a Great Partner

"Terror unendingly renews with advancing age. Without end, it returns us to the beginning. The beginning that I glimpse on the edge of the grave is the pig in me which neither death nor insult can kill. Terror on the edge of the grave is divine and I sink into the terror whose child I am." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

* * *

It is now the one hundred and fifth LOAD.

As Frisk finished loading their SAVE, they impulsively made their way forth. Again. A disturbance in the skeletons' synergy brought to light through every gesture, every word, pleased the hungry beast within, an avid observer in their prior runs just as they are in the present moment.

_How perfect,_ they mused, running their fingers smoothly along the svelte knife. _Well,_ thought Frisk with a frown, _almost perfect._

Their pupils, initially dilated under the spell of macabre curiosity—a festering realm of thoughts—now turned the size of fine-pointed needles—livid beyond thinking. Frisk, now nothing more than a vessel for the abnormality, has been vexed to the point of torture. The seductive whispers intensified into virulent verbosity, raising a cold-blooded killer with every malignant word. It left them no moment of clarity, let alone the ability to think for themselves anymore. Every now and then, Frisk's actions were allowed, only to be taken away in an instant. They have become a wretched monstrosity; a living nightmare.

_Frisk . . . _A biting pang hit their debauched psyche. Frisk twitched.

_Frisk . . . _the voice continued in a deceptively soft murmur; a hostile undertone, yet so mellifluous.

_Frisk! _

The call too strong to ignore, they responded internally. _I . . ._

Frisk stopped, biting their lip so hard they bled. _I'm not sure I want to do this anymore, Chara. I . . ._

The child meekly voiced their concern to the terrific entity within. A layer of mistrust laid between them with every failed attempt, every LOAD. It was only a matter of time.

It had taken so long.

_Chara_—_ We can't keep doing this. I'm_—

Silence—the expectation of Chara's interruption never came true—but for the hum of rushing blood in their head.

Tentatively, weak and weary, Frisk thought, _I'm scared . . . I'm so scared . . ._

_Frisk,_ responded Chara the fiend within, _you know what you must do: kill them. Spare no enemy. We must secure this timeline, and bring it into nonexistence. Just like all the times before, my dear partner. I admit, I can't help but be . . . disappointed. _

_Had you not let me down multiple times . . . ._

_'SANS, LET ME DO THE HONORS!' Papyrus said before unleashing a barrage of knife-like bones falling from the ceiling, some emerging from the floor, my SOUL held captive as I bled out__—_

_A blink. Sans stood on top of me, grinding his slipper atop my throat, choking me as I gurgled blood from my lips, my head feeling foggy__—_

_'now!' yelled Sans as him and his brother, Gaster Blasters aloft, fired off blindingly-hot lasers at me, disintegrating every bit of me, their eyes blazing__—_

_The skeleton brothers punched and cast spell upon spell, orange and blue, my body rebounding with every hit, only to be impacted with all manners of blows, again and again__—_

_'BROTHER,' declared the lanky skeleton as he held me by the foot, 'LET US KILL THEM NOW!' Sans grinned, eye sockets unfathomable, striking me on the chest and head repeatedly with a blunt femur until my face looked like mush__—_

_Are you listening to me? _said the voice, annoyed.

Frisk blinked hard, shutting off grisly images of themselves, their body tense.

_As I was saying, had you not let me down over and over again, I wouldn't be so aggrieved with you. Don't you see, Frisk? This will be a milestone for us. This timeline is much too rare_—_too precious_—_to give up on. A singularity among the ordinary, Frisk. Isn't great? Isn't it just the coolest? The battles with Sans have become stale. This is a welcome change. A welcome change indeed._

Shallow breaths escaped Frisk's dry throat. Their mouth parched, Frisk reached the front of their tightened throat (memories of Papyrus and Sans decapitating and amputating Frisk's limbs flashed behind their eyelids, bile accumulating in the back of their throat in revulsion). Swallowing the painful lump, Frisk regained their wits with a wild shake of their head and kept walking.

_Stay determined, Frisk. Your resolve has brought you this far, hasn't it? So don't—let__—__me—down. _

The voice within had acquired intelligence of their own, one so cold that Frisk would never wish Sans or Papyrus to know. To the skeletons, Frisk's true intentions hid in obscurity. What became evident: the hungry beast residing inside Frisk will stop at nothing to quench their blood-thirst, to achieve their own perverted sense of fulfilment.

_After all,_ the voice continued,_ we are still partners, right?_

_Right?_

The child shakily nodded, head limp upon their head in defeat, brown fringe hiding frightened, sorrowful eyes. _Yes._

_Very good, Frisk!_ jeered Chara. _So now, you know full-well what we must do._

Frisk clenched their fists; Chara's chilling memento trembled from the added pressure.

_So be good, my child._

_Won't you?_

"Yes, Chara," said Frisk under their breath, sniffling, angrily rubbing at their corneas with the back of their left knuckle, knife held limply in their right hand.

_Tell me, sweet child,_ echoed the horrifying voice in Frisk's head as they began to execute their final plan,_ why are there tears upon your eyes?_


	9. Danse Macabre

_"The anguish-inspiring character of death signifies the need which man has for anguish. Without this need, death would seem easy to him. Man, dying poorly, distances himself from nature, engenders an illusory, human world fashioned for art: we live in the tragic world, in the false atmosphere of which "tragedy" is the completed form. Nothing is tragic for the animal, which doesn't fall into the trap of the self. It is in this tragic, artificial world, that ecstasy arises. Without a single doubt, all object of ecstasy is created by art."_ \- George Bataille, 'Inner Experience'

* * *

Papyrus was grieving. No explanation was needed; Sans already had done enough for Papyrus to figure the rest out for himself, leaving the youngest disillusioned with his elder brother. The crushing heartache that bore on his chest encumbered Papyrus as he drowned in his own regrets, seeking retribution for his fall from grace.

The length of this cycle of death and suffering was yet to be determined. To Sans's knowledge, the child's determination still knows no bounds—an admirable attribute and a deadly character flaw, all in one. If only Frisk had fought back the urge to search for alternate routes, Sans wouldn't have turned out such an esoteric nihilist, poorly understood even by the one monster closest to him (_at least my jokes were still hits with the Underground crowd,_ thought Sans). His younger brother's existence out of the many godforsaken timelines brought him respite.

But not for long.

The doting profoundness between the duo was fading away. Their japes are nothing more than a distant memory. Sans's facetious remarks—which annoyed Papyrus daily—turned out to be a sham. Papyrus's light-hearted nagging, along with the high standards he set himself to, have been broken down, failing to be a role model for his insincere brother. Their altercations from past battles brought on a rift between them; the dire consequence of their inability to empathize with one another in the face of very gory adversity—it's enough to numb the strongest of behemoths. Such conflicted feelings carried onto the next LOAD and beyond. Their descent from harmony clearly pleased the human so. How they could recompense for the damage dealt to their psyches, let alone truly look each other in the face, blights them with worry and dread. What would it take for the two to reconcile? To find that strength, the tenacity, the unity they had the first few dozen times? Coming to terms with the situation would be the first step in ending the human's ambition to end their world—to let Sans and Papyrus be—once and for all.

Somehow, they had to atone for their sins. One of them just wanted to stop caring altogether; not much of a difference from previous timelines. The youngest felt disgusted with his elder brother and was having difficulty adapting to his newfound independence. Yet, Papyrus and Sans held on firmly to hope (hope that they will get over this latest mental obstacle); to compassion—their combined empathy could bring them far; to love—accomplishing what was once thought to be impossible through the mere power it held, the power that let Papyrus survive the slaughter. With so many dead in the Underground, what better time than to rely on each other? To trust each other? To, perhaps, even fight together with a new sense of resolve, without succumbing to ever-lasting pessimism for their future? To have hope for the future?

The circumstances, at this present moment, kept them (almost) resolutely mute, still as statues in thoughtful solitude. Their eyes met the ground in self-disgust.

". . . BROTHER?" Papyrus timidly shook Sans's shoulder. He needed Sans's undivided attention, for a start. Their feelings could not go unspoken for much longer. Papyrus knew better now; his brother admires him like no other. _Sans is my biggest fan! How could I ever forget?_ Papyrus couldn't. They both couldn't.

Despite it all, Papyrus was still him.

". . . SANS?"

No response.

Papyrus sighed sadly. "HOW MUCH LONGER CAN THIS TAKE," he lamented. "I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN KEEP GOING LIKE THIS. IT HURTS . . . SO BAD. MY SOUL IS WOUNDED. I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG I WILL LAST.

"I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU HAVE LASTED AS LONG AS YOU DID."

_I don't want to kill my friend. I don't want to lose what Sans and I have._

_I don't want to lose anybody._

"SANS, PLEASE," begged Papyrus. "SPEAK TO ME! SAY SOMETHING! ANYTHING . . ."

Sans mumbled, ". . . something . . . anything . . ."

Papyrus resisted the urge to groan at his brother, and grinned. "NOW THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!"

"anytime pap," said Sans, staring morosely at the ground.

It was clear to Papyrus that Sans was not up to talking about much of anything. Papyrus was there for him for all the wrong reasons—fighting and killing. One does not need a brother to do either of the two. His focus on the end goal ignored Papyrus's moral dilemma. Sans felt that Papyrus's change was his punishment for his selfish intentions.

_Well then, we'll just have to forgive each other our trespasses, won't we? I will get us out of this hole of self-loathing, put us on the straight and narrow, and have one goal in mind: peace in unity until the day we die! Circumstances be damned, we are brothers!_

Determined and whole, Papyrus cleared his throat. "ARE— ARE YOU READY?" he asked.

"ready as i'll ever be, bro."

Papyrus grunted in agreement, but would not be deterred. "SANS, YOU SOUND SO DEAD INSIDE."

"what'd ya know, pap," Sans responded, deadpan. "inside and out. i finally made it."

"DON'T SPEAK THAT WAY NOW, BROTHER!" said Papyrus in admonishment. "I DON'T LIKE IT. WHY CAN'T WE JUST START OVER?"

"we did," Sans said dryly with a glance at Papyrus, "and look where it got us."

"IF YOU INSIST."

Papyrus looked back into his tired eyes, and spontaneously took Sans into his arms. "SEE? AREN'T WE THE BEST? OF COURSE, I'M CLEARLY THE GREATEST. AND YOU, WELL— YOU COULD USE A LITTLE IMPROVEMENT. BUT YOU ARE STILL YOU! AND I'M OKAY WITH THAT, BROTHER. EVEN IF THE OTHER SIDE OF YOU WORRIES ME TO NO END, I KNOW DEEP DOWN, THERE IS ALWAYS GOOD IN YOU! YOU NEVER ABANDONED IT. I BEG YOU, SANS, TO SPEAK UP! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE.

"I'M TIRED OF FEELING ALONE, TOO, SANS," sighed Papyrus. "AND YOU KNOW WHAT? IF WE ARE BOTH ALONE, LET'S BE ALONE! TOGETHER! IT'S THE ONLY WAY TO MOVE ON AND PUT A STOP TO THIS NONSENSE. WE ARE BROTHERS! ARE WE NOT? NOT STRANGERS! SO PLEASE, DON'T ACT LIKE ONE. YOU ARE BETTER THAN THIS, SANS! I— I WILL FIGHT ALONGSIDE YOU FOREVER IF IT MEANS I HAVE YOU WITH ME, TILL THE END OF TIME! TILL OUR UNIVERSE FALLS APART AND NEVER RECUPERATES!"

Sans brightened up a little. "really bro? are you serious?"

"ABSOLUTELY! HOW COULD I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, NOT HELP SOMEONE IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE? ESPECIALLY WHEN THAT SOMEONE HAPPENS TO BE YOU, MY DEAR BROTHER! IT WILL TAKE TIME TO COME TO TERMS WITH, BUT I'M SURE WITH ENOUGH . . . PRACTICE"—Papyrus said the word with distaste—"I WILL BE ACCUSTOMED TO THIS KIND OF HELL— I MEAN, HELP!"

Sans's glum look diminished completely, as he began to accept Papyrus's unconditional embrace, hugging him back. "heh. this _is_ pretty hellish, papyrus."

Papyrus grimaced. "YOU ARE TOO RIGHT ABOUT THAT."

"talking about hell, pap," Sans plopped down from Papyrus's arms, facing the human once again, "here they come."

The footsteps stopped at a fair distance away from the skeletons.

"hmm," hummed Sans, "that expression . . . that's the expression of someone who has died one hundred and six times in a row."

"ONE HAS TO WONDER," said Papyrus thoughtfully, "WHAT HAPPENS AFTER A WHOPPING ONE HUNDRED AND SIX! SANS?"

The hollowness of Sans' eye-sockets were telling. "how about we find out?"

Frisk was pulled into the air, their SOUL enchanted blue by Sans.

Then the birds outside stopped chirping.

"WE ARE NEAR, HUMAN—"

"—near you, closing in."

"HANDLED ALREADY, HUMAN, SUFFERING WHAT YOU SUFFERED—"

"—as though the body of each of us were your body, human."

Papyrus diverted his gaze to the golden window, wistful for a time that never was.

_Standing on the precipice of Mt. Ebott, staring out at a setting sun as dusk embraced his friends and the only family he ever had . . . ._

The reflective, lustrous glass distinguished the spitting image of himself; the destruction of his immaculate virtue incarnate, shadows worn into his skeletal face.

With a glint in his eyes, Papyrus said, impassioned: "BEG, HUMAN—!"

"—beg to us for forgiveness!" followed Sans with a cry.

"We are near," they incanted.

"WEARY WE GO TO YOU—"

"—confront you as we bend over backwards."

"TO LIVE WE CONFRONT YOU, HUMAN!"

"we saw the blood, human—"

"—IT WAS WHAT YOU SHED."

"it always gleamed, human—"

"—IT WAS GLITTERING!"

A distinct blink—whorls of magic mingled and crackled in the air, the pressure phenomenal. Their auras glimmered like distant stars.

_**"your eyes and mouth are void, forever empty**_—_**" **_the human, still held aloft by Sans, looked on in horror as they choked, Papyrus's eyes flaring like the setting sun **_"_—**_**IT CAST YOUR IMAGE INTO OUR EYES FOREVER, HUMAN!"**_

_**"****_We sa_w your image!" **_

Papyrus commenced; he unveiled an array of bones, pushing forth from the ground and the ceiling, imprisoning the human as their attempt to jump out of the way failed.

_**"_w_e went and fought you, human**_—_**!" **_

Sans took control of the human's SOUL, throwing them onto the piercing bones, back and forth. Frisk was wildly launched to the opposite side of the corridor.

_**"—****_W_E WENT AND DANCED OUR TERRIBLE DANCE!"**_

Papyrus evoked a labyrinth of his own as the human's magic-induced vertigo impaired their sense of balance, traversing at a wayward speed.

"_**we saw the blood, human! you served us****—"**_

Sans readied his blasters from all sides. The crashing battered the human greatly, leaving them at the mercy—or the lack thereof—of Sans's blasters.

_**"—****_A_ND WE DRANK IT WITH OUR EYES!"**_

The maws came from each corner, each side, each angle, each direction at an inconsistent sequence, the cacophony shattering the sun-lit windows.

_**"_We s_aw your image!"**_

An ominous sizzling sensation disintegrated and burned their skin, the smell inducing the bile at the back of their throat to be vomited.

_PEW! PEW!_

_**"WE WENT—!"**_

_CRASH!_

"—_**and bent—!"**_

_BANG__!_

_**"—****AND CONVULSED!"**_

_**BOOM!**_

_**"WE—SAW**_—_**YOUR**_—_**IMAGE!"**_

Frisk's efforts to maneuver themselves out of the merciless onslaught from the relentless, dauntless skeletons were an absolute waste. Their body made known the extent of their trauma. Broken, sedated and worn from all sorts of maladies, their mind vacated elsewhere; the light of Frisk's pupils dimmed out of fear from the sheer shock of tandem power. The human came to a bleak conclusion as they lay there dying.

_Sans's blasters are too irregular, yet coordinated with cool precision. Papyrus's attacks are. . . beautifully magnificent, _said the pleased voice of Chara. _So who killed me this time? _

_Does it matter? _thought Frisk as they welcomed their end, their clothes bloodied and in burnt tatters.

"_We saw your image, human,"_ the whispering echoes of Sans and Papyrus resounded in their ears, "_and we drank it with our eyes."_

With a faint celebratory shout of _'One hundred and six!'_ everything turned black.

"_Beg, human—we are near . . ."_

* * *

Author's Note:

Poem 'Tenebrae' adapted by me for the use of this story; poem originally written by holocaust survivor/poet Paul Celan.

The original 'Tenebrae':

_We are near, Lord,_  
_near and at hand._

_Handled already, Lord,_  
_clawed and clawing as though_  
_the body of each of us were_  
_your body, Lord._

_Pray, Lord,_  
_pray to us,_  
_we are near._

_Wind-awry we went there,_  
_went there to bend_  
_over hollow and ditch._

_To be watered we went there, Lord._

_It was blood, it was_  
_what you shed, Lord._

_It gleamed._

_It cast your image into our eyes, Lord._  
_Our eyes and our mouths are open and empty, Lord._

_We have drunk, Lord._  
_The blood and the image that was in the blood, Lord._

_Pray, Lord._  
_We are near._


	10. POWERFUL! POPULAR! PRESTIGIOUS!

". . . [P]ain means little and is not clearly different from a sensation of pleasure, before nausea—the intimate cold wherein I succumb. . . [P]ain is perhaps only a sensation incompatible with the tranquil unity of the self: some action, external or internal, challenges the fragile ordering of a composite existence, decomposes me, and it is the horror of this threatening action which makes me grow pale. Not that . . . pain is necessarily a threat of death: it unveils the existence of possible actions beyond which the self could not survive; it evokes death, without introducing a real threat." - George Batailles, 'Inner Experience'

* * *

"heh. this is pretty hellish, papyrus," said Sans with a sense of déjà vu.

"YOU ARE TOO RIGHT ABOUT THAT," said Papyrus, feeling that same familiar feeling, looking into each other's eyes and knowing, just knowing, finding comfort in it instead of confronting the familiarity with cool regard; they continued to keep each other close, cherishing the bond between them, letting nothing get in the way of their closed bubble, their world of happiness.

"so you noticed," said Sans with a grimace, eyes hooded as his chin lay on his taller brother's shoulder.

A highly wary aspect of Sans, as if it had eyes behind his head, felt the human approaching, filling him with a vague feeling of antipathy that did not belong to Sans, his deep-rooted distrust of Frisk stronger than ever. The foreboding thought of waking to an intimate moment with his brother right after the human's death was the ultimate offense to him yet. Sans should be basking in the affection, yet that human haunted his thoughts.

_How awful, _Sans sighed, part grateful for the brotherly embrace, part resentful for not being able to fully enjoy it, his head comfortable at the crook of Papyrus's neck.

"I KNOW," said Papyrus after a moment of silence. Papyrus refrained from conveying his sorrow any further, feeling what Sans felt, the consternation inciting him to discreetly shed tears beside his elder brother's head; a most sentimental moment that was supposed to make their hearts beat as one would soon lose its depth.

_But I'll cherish this just a moment more,_ thought Papyrus with a contented sigh.

"THIS IS TRULY DISTURBING," Papyrus said after a comfortable silence. "WHY SAVE AGAIN, BROTHER? WHY HERE?"

"i don't know. but hey, maybe it's for the best." Sans hummed, thinking of words to bring Papyrus the assurance he needed. "ya know," said Sans, lifting his head off Papyrus's shoulder to look at him, "i thought of an entirely new way to look at this. wanna know?"

"WHY, OF COURSE I WISH TO KNOW!" Papyrus said with a grin. "LAY IT ON ME, BROTHER!"

"as your majesty commands," said Sans dryly with a short bow of his head. "the human may have control of time, but they seem to have neglected one thing: whenever we have moments like this, our spirits are lifted, without fail. this hug papyrus? it is the perfect way to forgive, show compassion—therefore papyrus, we are saved, more powerful than before, by the ability to feel remorse! something the human seems to have abandoned long ago."

Papyrus, impressed and moved by his elder brother's insight, peered into his brother's eyes with profound brotherly adoration. "YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT! IT SEEMS IT ISN'T ALL THAT POINTLESS AFTER ALL: TO SULK AND FEEL ROTTEN ABOUT KILLING, ALTHOUGH, DEAR BROTHER, I DO NOT WISH TO WASTE AWAY WITH REGRET. THE HUMAN HAS MADE A GRAVE ERROR IN TRYING TO TEAR US APART! OUR INNER STRIFE SHALL NEVER TARNISH THIS HUG. THIS BATTLE HAS LONG BEEN WON BY THE RIGHTFUL VICTORS—US!

"COME NOW, BROTHER!" announced Papyrus. "LET'S GIVE THAT STRAY SOUL THE RETRIBUTION THEY RIGHTFULLY DESERVE!"

Sans became starry-eyed as he plopped down from Papyrus's arms before facing the human once more. "you are so cool, bro."

"DON'T START," Papyrus said in a huff, legs spread apart and arms postured heroically for battle. "WE MUST BE PREPARED!"

The footsteps stopped at a fair distance away from the skeletons.

"hmm." Sans thought. "that expression... that's the expression of someone who has died one hundred and six times in a row."

"WOWIE! THAT'S THE NUMBER OF PUZZLES THAT I MADE FOR YOU, FOR SANS, AND THE REST OF MY FRIENDS WHO ARE NOW DEAD!

"SO ENLIGHTEN US, HUMAN!"

"what are your intentions this time around?"

Fine, auburn hair shrouded their sunken eyes, inhibiting the chance of revealing the human's mental state, the sight—harrowing. They stared at each other for a long moment. "My," whispered Frisk in a feeble, reedy voice, "intentions . . . ?"

They roused their head, fringe parting like curtains from their face, exposing the demon within: their beatific smile, unfathomable eyes and distorted voice anathema to Sans and Papyrus—wishing to unsee the human's visage. It haunted them.

With a start, a crescendo of mad laughter escaped chapped, cracked lips, the brothers delayed no longer.

A blink. Frisk's adversaries set their attacks into motion sooner than expected. As soon as the bones rose from the floor, Frisk dived out of the way.

_So THAT'S how it's going to be! Just like I thought._ Chara concluded: _they are absolutely unpredictable._

_How ENTERTAINING!_

Blue again, Sans flicked his left hand. Again, they were flung to the other side of the room as Papyrus's labyrinth emerged, with significant alterations. Frisk hurried like quicksilver through the maze in desperation, only able to fly left and right. The terrific maws—jaws wide, showing terrible, jagged teeth—adjacent to them shot with calculated precision. Sans channeled hair-trigger blasts with finesse, draining them of vitality with each successive hit as Frisk angled themselves through narrow twists and deceptive turns. The outlet within sight, Frisk aimed for their landing . . .

A fine bone cut Frisk's knee, causing them to lose their footing, tumbling hard onto the ceramic, bright tiles, barely making it out of Papyrus's death puzzle. Patches of burned skin from Sans's assault stung their nerves. Muscles throbbed after the bumping and thudding through labyrinth's dense bone walls. Frisk's scorched clothes were tattered from sharp bones, the torn, loose seams of their shorts alight with dying flames.

Papyrus let out a boastful cry, raising his arm into the air in victory. "DON'T YOU LIKE IT, HUMAN? I DECIDED TO PUT AN EDGE INTO MY REGULAR ATTACKS!"

The human got up, grinning, teeth grinding out: _"My turn."_

They rushed towards Sans, breaking lose a series of glinting strikes. The keen blade rung in the air with every slash, creating a hymn of high-pitched humming.

Sans was limber; hands in his pockets, Sans sidestepped left and right, whirling and pivoting in every direction. He quickened his evasive maneuvers, knowing full well that the first blow to him would be the last to finish him—and Papyrus; for the extent of Frisk's LOVE was capable of annihilating the entire Underground. The skeletons were clearly no exception to the human's fiery wrath against existence. But Sans and Papyrus, confident in their mastery over the human, grinned and took it, Papyrus spectating as he prepared an attack.

"You have" — _MISS _— "caused me" — _MISS _— "so much" — _MISS _— "grief!" hissed the child. _MISS. _"You" — _MISS _— "never" — _MISS _— "give" — _MISS _— "your all!" _MISS._ "Every" — _MISS _— "single" — _MISS _— "time."

_MISS._

"I wonder" — _MISS _— "_now_" — _MISS _— "if you are," the child said with a nasty grin. _MISS._

Again and again, Sans evaded with expert dexterity, his feet steady, as if deliberately mocking the human with every unsuccessful attack. Frisk brutishly grunted with every failed strike, becoming high-strung and enraged. They were tiring from exerting themselves too fast, and too soon. As the child continued their onslaught, a soft voice spoke from within:

_"Frisk. You know how Sans is. He can't dodge forever. Keep attacking."_

They looked a little more closely at the short, spry skeleton; sweat beads ran down Sans's forehead. Observation made, the human began to taunt him. "Say," — _MISS _— "you've got some fancy" — _MISS _— "footwork, Sans!"

_MISS._

_"You are" — MISS — "nothing" — MISS — "but a" — MISS — "deadbeat" — MISS — "brother!"_

A glimpse was all Frisk needed to know the bait was set: Sans's pupils disappeared for a second, giving out a quick huff in retaliation. _MISS._

"_Oh my_," — _MISS _— "did I" — _MISS _— "hit a" — _MISS _— "_soft spot_?" — _MISS _— "I didn't" — _MISS _— "know you" — _MISS _— "were still" — _MISS _— "capable" — _MISS _— "of having" — _MISS _— "_feelings!"_

Papyrus watched his elder brother proudly, evading nimbly as if Sans were dancing on tiptoes, yet fretting, feeling unable to intervene. Sure, he could go into the fray, but Papyrus has no death wish. The offence to Sans didn't fail his notice, the cheap insult causing a momentary loss of balance in Sans's otherwise smooth movements. Suddenly, Papyrus's heart dropped: the misstep earned Sans a cut to his left sleeve as he fell on one knee. Papyrus screamed internally, instinctively coming to Sans's rescue—there was no other choice; Papyrus knew what he must do. Attack at the ready behind his back, gripping his weapon tightly, he called to them.

"HUMAN!" Papyrus bellowed. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, KILLING MY IDIOT BROTHER THIS EARLY? YOU DON'T STAND A CHANCE AGAINST ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

Frisk grinned devilishly, sneering as Sans whipped back behind a pillar to catch his breath: "_I call your taunt, Papyrus. However, I would love nothing more than proving, once and for all, that there is nothing great about you!_" They charged at Papyrus with a cry as if possessed, swinging their knife in the air as they closed in on him. In that moment, as if time slowed down for Papyrus, he fleetly thought about how he would normally be paralyzed with fear, unable to save himself. But that was the naive Papyrus of the past. _This is me now, guarding Sans as never before!_

And at the close, Frisk was faced with Chara's shocking reflection (the savage aperture of their mouth and eyes were fathomlessly void) upon a sallow, mirror-like surface—_it's not a mirror, it's a schy—_

_And here I die_ _again,_ Frisk thought drowsily as their consciousness fled._ My SOUL taking flight, mute and deaf, now I die, die, die, die._

* * *

Sans gave Papyrus a rather stern look upon the start of the human's LOAD. With a blink, he sent themselves back home, in the middle of the living room. Immediately, Sans launched into a tirade most unbecoming of him. "papyrus, are you _insane?_ have you already forgotten what that human is capable of doing? have you not seen me at the cusp of death enough times? don't you get it, pap? That ridiculous move of yours? _THAT is what they wanted you to do! they wanted you to lower your guard, your defenses! you could have died!"_

Papyrus nodded half-heartedly as Sans went at it, looking proud as ever. "ARE YOU QUITE DONE YET, BROTHER? I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SAVED YOUR LIFE! A 'THANK YOU' SHALL SUFFICE," said Papyrus with a playful grin.

_Damnit, pap isn't taking this seriously enough. Need to snap him back to reality. _"hey! knock-knock."

Papyrus answered cheerfully, "WHO'S THERE?"

"frisk."

"FRISK?" asked Papyrus, startled and confused. "FRISK WHO?"

"whoa, i'm not asking you to frisk anybody, bro. what kind of brother do you take me for?"

"THE TYPE," began Papyrus with a roll of his eyes, "THAT DEMANDS ME NOT MAKE RISKS, YET TRIES TO SIMULTANEOUSLY BREAK THE ICE AND BRING ME BACK TO REALITY WITH A BAD KNOCK-KNOCK JOKE!"

"oh, you wound me pap," said Sans dryly, "but fine—point taken." Papyrus grinned in tacit apology for it all. Tension successfully broken, and Papyrus giving as close to an apology as possible for that stunt he pulled back then, Sans's mind roiled with possibilities.

Papyrus meanwhile walked to stare out the window in contemplation, taking in the view. It was snowing gently outside with a wind caressing every wall of the house. The brief japes they shared was not enough to alleviate all the tension. Try as Papyrus might, he did not wish to go yet.

The calmness surrounding Snowdin was deceiving—the genocide of all their fellow monster residents had left nothing but piles of dust as far as the eye can see, grayer than the virgin snow that surrounds the tundra. Papyrus frowned, thinking of how much of it was actual snow, and how much of it was . . .

Feeling despair mounting, Papyrus inhaled shakily, trying to get his train of thought back on track before shattering in the depths of his desensitized psyche—_the Great Papyrus can't afford any cracks!_

Sans did say that their King was next in line for a bad time. That big softie is no match for that errant child! Oh, that poor, stray SOUL! Are all humans really so fascinated by bloodlust? Is there no redemption for them? Papyrus would love to think so again, but to face them again— _Oh I'm thinking in circles! There has to be something I can do! My dear brother does not know everything_—_I can't let him bear it all alone after all._ Papyrus felt overcome with love again: fighting alongside his brother; that their timeline is something most special of all. _If only Undyne were still alive,_ Papyrus sighed wistfully as he lay his elbows on the windowsill, hands propping his chin, imagining how proud Undyne would be of him for finally having killed a human.

At that moment, a crushing wave of grief hit him. _Undyne is dead._

Papyrus fell to his knees, devastated, gloved hands holding on to the edge of the sill in a death grip for dear life. Ever since that wayward wretch callously announced her untimely death in one of their many battles, her passing hasn't sunk until just now. With Undyne gone, Papyrus would never become a part of the Royal Guard, would never get to train with her again. The grief overwhelming him as he silently wept, tears streaming down his long face, Papyrus's hands fell on his knees; he fully collapsed to the floor, laying on the wooden floor as he trembled and covered his weeping eyes with his forearm. He shortly felt himself getting tugged into somebody's arms—Sans, he knew. Papyrus felt like falling forever into a black pit of despair, swallowing him whole, never to escape. But he can't allow himself to give in to the feeling— Undyne would surely give him a piece of her mind and knock some sense into him until next week. Papyrus sobbed a chuckle at the thought.

"what's wrong pap?" Sans kept a firm hold around his shoulders as both of them sat on the floor. Papyrus pushed himself against the wall, his skull hitting the edge of the window sill; he gasped at the sting of the bump, rubbing the back of his head soothingly. _Pain,_ Papyrus mused dismally as his hand dropped, limp and secured in Sans's embrace, _should I succumb to it? Succumb to that cold cavernous air where I nearly died? _

Papyrus wondered if she was at least spared pain in death, but he knew the answer: no. No, she died a horrible death. . . He felt his SOUL and mind strain to their limits, close to breaking.

_Sans surely has been in a similar state like me before,_ thought Papyrus, finding comfort in shared anguish. This would have to do before they go back and face the human again—crevices made from too much suffering within themselves; broken but whole. The support and empathy Sans provided him is enough.

"I-IT'S JUST . . ." _Sans will always be enough,_ his last thought echoed. "UNDYNE IS DEAD, SANS . . . AND I HAVEN'T THOUGHT ABOUT HER ONCE IN THE PAST— OH, I DON'T KNOW, HOWEVER MANY HOURS OR MINUTES HAVE PASSED DURING EACH BATTLE!

"I FINALLY KILLED A HUMAN, SANS, AND I COULDN'T HELP BUT WONDER" — Papyrus sniffled, rubbing his right hand at his face to wipe away the tears — "HOW PROUD WOULD SHE BE OF ME? WHAT WOULD IT HAVE BEEN LIKE FOR HER," he sobbed, "TO INTRODUCE ME TO THE KING HIMSELF AS A NEW MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD? BUT NOW I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING, SANS!" With an awful burning sensation at the back of his throat, Papyrus wailed: "THERE IS NO MORE ROYAL GUARD!"

"oh pap," Sans grinned pleasantly. "that's where you're wrong."

"W-WAIT, WHAT?" Papyrus's eyes popped wide open. _What's Sans saying? Has he finally lost it? The Royal Guard are all dead, save its commander!_ _Where in the Underground could there be a member of the Royal Guard? In some super-secret cave deep within the Earth's surface?_

"pap don't you get it yet?" Papyrus swore that his brother's grin had grown a little wider, the light of Sans's eyes dancing with amusement.

Papyrus frowned; not having realized he wrapped his arms around his brother, he let go, still kneeling on the ground and crossing his arms. "NO, I DON'T. FRANKLY, SANS, I NO LONGER FEEL LIKE DOING PUZZLES RIGHT NOW, SO OUT WITH IT!"

"oh, you're no fun. ok, here goes."

Sans stepped away, standing grandly as he said: "i'm a member of the royal guard, papyrus!"

Papyrus stared dumbly. He could not believe his luck. _But wait, this . . . this raises all manners of questions!_ Questions they had no time to answer. _No matter,_ Papyrus thought. He would take this in stride. "VERY WELL THEN, SANS! AM I WORTHY TO FINALLY BECOME PART OF THE ROYAL GUARD?"

"yup!" Sans stepped towards him, meeting Papyrus's glimmering eyes. "so, how do ya wanna do this? i would give you a proper induction ceremony for this wonderful occasion, pap, but frankly," Sans winked playfully, "we are pressed for time." Sans then closed his eyes and sighed mournfully, unusual for Papyrus to witness. "time we do not have."

Papyrus swiftly ignored the expression, pushed himself off his knees and stepped forward eagerly. "LET US FORGET THE FORMALITIES, BROTHER! INDUCT ME HOWEVER WHICH WAY IS FASTEST!"

"i live to serve," said Sans ceremoniously and conjured a bone, magically transforming it into the shape of a stunning scepter. "kneel."

"AS YOU SAY, BROTHE— I MEAN, YES, SIR!"

Papyrus wasted no time bending on one knee reverently as if facing his king. With a brandish, Sans's royal rod tapped Papyrus's shoulders and head, Sans solemnly reciting:

"i, sans the skeleton, do hereby induct papyrus the skeleton, fellow resident of the underground, and apprentice of the formerly deceased head of the royal guard, undyne, to king asgore's royal guard: to serve and protect his fellow residents and his king; to keep the peace, and to rid ourselves of the blight of humans that serve to undermine that peace. remain steadfast and loyal, oh great papyrus, as you join us in our humble endeavor to keep our land safe."

A long pause. "stand, royal guard papyrus."

Papyrus stood up, knees trembling from the most momentous occasion of his career—his dream a reality, at last! Sans vanished the transfigured bone and extended out his hand.

"welcome to the royal guard, pap," Sans grinned, his pupils gleaming with pride. Papyrus beamed, and overcome with great emotion, picked Sans up and held him fast.

"I— I WILL NEVER FORGET THIS MOMENT, BROTHER!" babbled Papyrus incoherently. "I WILL— NEVER LET ANYONE— NOT YOU, NOR UNDYNE, NOR OUR KING— DOWN! I WILL NEVER LET YOU—!"

Realizing his lack of composure, Papyrus put Sans down sheepishly. "I WON'T LET THE KING DOWN," he said as evenly as possible, "EVEN IF THE KING IS A BIG PUSHOVER."

Papyrus, enthusiastic at the possibilities, decided then and there that it was time to go.

_But . . . where? How were they going to do this now that they are no longer in the hallway?_

"SANS, A QUESTION!"

"you may have it," Sans intoned like a serf.

Papyrus snorted at the tone, then said seriously: "WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE? DO WE GO STRAIGHT BACK?"

Sans shifted moods fast; his tone curt, cutting straight to the chase. "absolutely not! that is tantamount to suicide."

"BUT THE HUMAN MIGHT HAVE REACHED OUR KING BY THEN, SANS!" Papyrus practically stomped in indignation at themselves being like sitting ducks. "WE CAN'T JUST LET THE CHILD WALTZ RIGHT INTO HIM! ASGORE HAS ALL THE SOULS, RIGHT? I DON'T EVEN WANT TO THINK WHAT THE HUMAN WOULD DO WITH SUCH POWER! I CAN'T BEAR THE THOUGHT!"

"nor do I. do not take me for a fool, pap. the human mustn't reach those SOULS, for the moment they do, we might as well call it in, step aside and do nothing. they would be . . ." — looking aside, they stared out the window at the snow-covered, dust-sifted ground — "unstoppable . . ." said Sans in a hoarse whisper.

Seemingly collecting his wits the next instant, he declared with unyielding resolve: "we cannot allow that to happen."

"SO WHAT IS THE PLAN, BROTHER?" Papyrus looked down and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "WE CAN'T SHORTCUT TO THE HALLWAY—THAT WOULD LEAVE US WIDE OPEN TO ATTACK! WE'D BE EXTREMELY LUCKY TO SURVIVE THE FIRST HIT, BUT I WOULD NOT COUNT ON SURVIVING THE SECOND. PERHAPS WE COULD GO TO THE THRONE ROOM?"

"perhaps we could. that'd be ideal, yeah? we do have one problem though," said Sans, his face taut in concentration as he calculated a strategy in his head. "the throne room is not nearly big enough for a confrontation. one of us is bound to die almost immediately upon a battle commencing. no, we need the human elsewhere," Sans muttered, looking distant.

_Despite being out of harm's way, the battle is far from over. No one's left but us to stop the human. Running away with Papyrus isn't an option; not only would Frisk find us sooner or later, but I bet my lab that Papyrus would rather die than run. This peaceful haven of ours is giving Frisk plenty of time to get to Asgore— Right, the SOULS! Come on, think—!_

"HMPH! WELL, I DON'T SEE WHY WE CAN'T DO IT HERE, BROTHER—"

Sans stopped his train of thought in that instant; over-brimming with hope, he then cried out, "papyrus, you're a genius!"

Sans, beaming up at a baffled Papyrus, held his hands, jumping up and down in excitement he hadn't felt in ages. "that's it! we need to get the kid to take a detour with us!"

"A DETOUR? BUT SANS!" —Papyrus, eyes bugging out of his sockets in horror, clasped Sans's hands tightly, barely bringing in Sans's palpable exhilaration to a standstill (_how uncouth! _thought Papyrus)— "WE COULD DIE TRYING! HAVE YOU EVER DONE THIS BEFORE, SANS?"

"no," said Sans with a careless shrug, "but we have no other choice, and it can't hurt to try." Sans started pacing across the living room for a few minutes, then sat down on the couch, frustrated. "first, we need to distract the human; trap them, then take them with us. this will take a maximum amount of not just cunning, but luck," Sans said soberly—_never has he looked more like the weight of the world lay upon his shoulders until now, _Papyrus thought sadly— "a lot of it."

"WELL . . ." Papyrus inspected a box of bones, rummaging about for nothing. _This is maddening, suicidal even! But this is our only choice! A most reasonable one!_ Yet this time, they could not shortcut themselves back to safety—_we_ _need all our wits!_ "I DON'T KNOW ABOUT LUCK, DEAR BROTHER OF MINE, BUT CUNNING?" Papyrus sat down beside Sans, trying to envision a plan. "WE HAVE GOTTEN THIS FAR, SANS—AT A WHOPPING ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN, I MIGHT ADD! THAT HAS TAKEN PLENTY OF CUNNING! AND LUCK! I ADMIT I HAVE NOT THE SLIGHTEST IDEA IF WE HAVE THE LUCK TO SPARE, BUT."

Papyrus looked determinedly at Sans then, who looked back in mutual understanding. "we have to try."

"AGREED!" proclaimed Papyrus. "LET US GO THEN!"

"wait," said Sans, grasping his left arm. "papyrus?"

"WHAT?"

Solemnly, he said: "don't go trying to save my life again."

"YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE," said Papyrus haughtily, crossing his arms. "WISH NOT GRANTED, BROTHER! I, AS A SOLDIER OF THE ROYAL GUARD, AM BOUND TO FIGHT AND PROTECT THE CITIZENRY— AND YOUR SORRY BEHIND— FROM ALL DANGERS! SO I WILL DO WHAT MUST BE DONE, SANS! ASK NOTHING MORE OF ME."

After Papyrus and Sans quickly made their final preparations—discussing and tying loose ends in their strategy as they went—with his younger brother's words in mind, Sans said, "time to execute the plan and probably save my sorry behind again, pap."

"THAT I AM, BROTHER!" said Papyrus, excited beyond reason. "WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITHOUT ME?"

Sans grabbed Papyrus's hand much too tightly, looking askance to hide his expression, and teleported them to the Throne Room.

* * *

Frisk's dying thought taken from William Shakespeare's play 'A Midsummer Night's Dream':

Thus I die. Thus, thus, thus.

Now I am dead,

Now I am fled,

My soul is in the sky.

Tongue, lose thy light.

Moon take thy flight.

Now die, die, die, die.

* * *

Author's Note: Remember to leave a review and the like.


	11. King Asgore and the Repudiated Child

". . . [M]en suffered from the absence of communication resulting from existence separated from a king. They had to put to death not the slave, but the king, to assure the return to communion for the entire people. Among men, it must have therefore seemed that one couldn't choose one more worthy of the knife than a king. But if it was a question of military leaders, the sacrifice ceased to be possible (a war commander was going too far). For them, one substituted carnival kings (disguised prisoners, pamperèd before death)." - George Bataille, 'Inner Experience'

* * *

Asgore was panicking—dread infected every tendril of his being, right down to his SOUL. With a trembling paw, he attempted to water his flowers; the steel watering can spritz out water unevenly onto petals and stems. This was not having the calming effect he desired and needed, Asgore thought heavily. His kingdom lay in ruins. Alphys had run off from her lab in Hotland to warn him of the human's mass genocide. Where she was is anybody's guess. Dead, he suspected, but he tried to hope that she did indeed evacuate what was left of his Underground subjects.

He was not holding out high hopes for Sans, however. He knew better than to underestimate the shorter of the skeleton brothers, but at this rate, he suspected that Sans's death was imminent. Surely, his lanky brother was most certainly . . .

And lo and behold, the skeleton brothers appeared in the blink of an eye right before him—he yelped, startled, dropping the watering can onto a patch of neglected buttercups. _Speak of the damn Devils!_

"heya." "GREETINGS, OUR KING!" The brothers spoke at once, bowing courteously.

Flabbergasted, Asgore spluttered, paws running nervously through his furry forehead, completely at a loss for words. "I— wh— how . . . When, w-wait— WHAT? YOU'RE ALIVE?" the king bellowed, eyes wide with surprise.

Both brothers nodded.

"SO WHAT ON EARTH," the king yelled out uncharacteristically, exasperated and pulling at his floppy ears, "ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?"

"WELL, OUR DEAR KING," began the taller of the two, "I SAY I SPEAK FOR MY BROTHER HERE WHEN I SAY," — with a sprint, Papyrus closed in on Asgore, looking on the verge of tears— "BOY, AM I EVER HAPPY TO SEE YOU ALIVE AND WELL, YOU BIG LUG!" the younger of the brothers exclaimed and proceeded to hug the breath right out of him, standing still as a tree.

Sighing, Asgore patted Papyrus's back for good measure; the lad must have been going through so much, losing Undyne—his closest friend. At least Papyrus still has his brother looking after him. _Thank god for us all—there is hope yet._ "Good to see you as well, Papyrus."

Sans looked on in delight, chuckling at the scene Papyrus was making. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Truth was, Sans had no idea what to expect. Surely, the human had time to assault their king and be over and done with their reign of terror. Strangely enough, they had not. This unnerved Sans greatly, but . . . seeing Papyrus and Asgore alive and well, he let them have this moment. Ah, who was he kidding? Sans is letting _himself_ have this moment. Papyrus was beginning to bawl hysterically at the King's shoulder. Oh boy. But wait—

Interesting. There their king stood, comforting Papyrus like a father, saying all sorts of platitudes that mean little: "It's alright," "There, there," "It's all going to be okay," "You're safe now." At least somebody is still here to say such meaningless things; sweet nothings, are they not? But Papyrus absorbed each word, his sobbing coming down to sniffles and chuckling at their good fortune. Calmer, Papyrus patted Asgore's back in return, saying, "MY APOLOGIES, MY KING! IT REALLY IS GOOD TO SEE YOU AFTER ALL THIS TIME!"

"Likewise, Papyrus," smiled King Asgore, holding him at shoulder's length to look at him. "It pleases me to see some of my toughest subjects make it through this alive."

"THE— THE TOUGHEST? BUT— WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, MY KING, UNDYNE WAS THE TOUGHEST OF US ALL!"

"That she was indeed, Papyrus. But you are here now to take on her mantle, aren't you? That being said . . ." The king rummaged through hidden pockets covered by his golden greaves, taking out a winged key the shape of the royal emblem. "Here you are!"

Papyrus took the key reverently, eyeing it with glee. "TO WHERE DOES THIS KEY LEAD, KING ASGORE?"

"Sharp as ever, aren't you? The key opens the armory of this castle. You are to enter and get into your proper gear. Have you been inducted into the Royal Guard properly, Papyrus?"

"I— YES! MY BROTHER INDUCTED ME SHORTLY BEFORE COMING TO SEE YOU! HE DID AN EXCELLENT JOB IF MAY SAY SO MYSELF."

Sans chuckled in good humor. "i'm glad that I met my brother's high standards."

The king nodded solemnly, uttering with sincerity and a smile: "That you did, Sans. That you did." And with a swirl of purple robes went toward Sans, patting him on the shoulder with something akin to pride. "I should have known you'd outlive us all."

Papyrus said, sounding rather pleased with himself, "WHY, HE HAS LEARNED FROM THE BEST, MY KING! OF COURSE HE HAS!"

"He has, hasn't he?" chuckled King Asgore. "Well, what are you waiting for? The armory awaits you, Commander Papyrus! Go on—I'm sure Undyne told you where's it at, yes? We'll be right here until you come back."

"OH—! RIGHT! BROTHER," said Papyrus before making to walk away. "I SHALL SEE YOU SHORTLY. I DEMAND YOU DISCUSS OUR BRILLIANT PLAN WITH THE KING! REMEMBER: THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE!" he yelled out as he ran out of the throne room.

_This is it: time to discuss the plan. It's now or never. And besides, who knows where we will end up once the child is slaughtered again? Only time will tell. Let us hope Asgore decides not to fumble this one chance they have. We have no time to waste._

With Papyrus finally gone, the silence was deafening, save for the distant echo of song birds. It was palpably awkward. "asgore," nodded Sans to the king at last, niceties aside. "Sans," the king nodded back curtly. "Report. I demand to know what in the nine hells has been going on. For example, how—?"

"—is my little brother still alive?" The king shuffled his feet upon yellow petals; at least he had the kindness to look sheepish at asking such a personal question.

Asgore felt downright awful for having gotten things so wrong; to have had so little faith in Papyrus. Truly, he had not expected the young lad to survive the genocide. Sans cleared his throat—to catch his attention. But of course. Looking at Sans straight in the eyes, Asgore swore he could see the light of his pinprick pupils dance. Why, he couldn't say.

Finally, Sans responded: "it's complicated."

"It's complicated," Asgore whispered back solemnly. "Right."

"right," said Sans curtly. If he had meant to disrespect Asgore, it was not clear. Asgore, no stranger to this attitude, made to stand beside Sans, right in the middle of the room. "Your younger brother mentioned a plan—"

"Yes," Sans confirmed shortly, "we have a plan, and you're just gonna have to go along with it if you wish to live another day. you're going to have to trust in the plan. is that clear?

An instance of profound silence passed by. Then, Asgore answered: "Crystal clear."

"RIGHT THEN!" cried out the enthusiastic voice of the younger of the two, clad in Royal Guard regalia, save for a helmet. "KING ASGORE, YOU'RE BAIT!"

"W-wait! N-now, you just wait a mome—" Asgore spluttered again but was interrupted by Sans. "no time. pap says you're bait, so you're bait. we are going to get the human back to snowdin to have the advantage over them. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, asgore—our plan might fail. should our plan work, the human will be taken with pap and i back to snowdin: pap will distract them, i will trap them and then take us back to town. you will be safe, and the human will be dead long before you can say 'golly'," finished Sans with a faint but dazzling glint of blue sky and summer sun in his eyes that lasted for an agonizingly slow second. "still with me?"

Asgore snapped back to full attention. "Yes— Still with you, Sans," he rasped, his throat surprisingly dry probably from the anxiety building up in his gut, willing himself not to sick up from the pressure. If he were frank with himself, Asgore couldn't help feeling some apprehension about the plan. The human senselessly killed the majority of his subjects (_even sweet Toriel_—_beautiful wife and mother she was,_ he thought sadly), and now was putting all his trust—his hope—on two eccentric skeleton siblings on saving not just his sorry hide, but the Underground as well! It's rather reasonable that he'd still be apprehensive about all this. But he can't be fearing the worst. Clearing all dryness in his throat away, he thought to speak. "Continue," he demanded.

"good," said Sans with a humorless wink, then continued with uncharacteristic gravity in his words, "because it is imperative that you listen, and listen good. once the human enters—any moment now—pap and i are going to hide right behind you. you're big enough to provide cover for the both of us."

Sans stepped right up to Asgore, eyes locked on to each other, his multi-hued gaze intensifying for another instant. "asgore, no matter what happens, no matter how creeped out you get by the kid, do not, i repeat, DO NOT back away. you are to stay utterly still. do not move an inch," continued Sans—Asgore, wanting to divert his gaze from Sans, felt nonplussed by the severity the older brother displayed, even if it is perfectly warranted — "not. one. single. inch. we'll take care of the rest," Sans said, turning away at last—Asgore sighing with relief — "won't we, royal guard papyrus?"

"THAT WE WILL DO, SANS! WE ARE GOING TO—!"

"not a word more, papyrus," — in a blink, Sans quickly put his hand on Papyrus's mouth — "they could be listening in right now as we speak. we've said too much. now," said Sans, turning back to Asgore after grabbing his brother by the hand to pull him along, "we're moving ahead with the plan. the element of surprise is on our side, asgore. we are counting on you to stay still."

The brothers gathered behind him, concealing them completely from frontal view. "Right," said Asgore, summoning all his bravery and standing stiffly.

_God, I've gone mad. This plan is folly is what it is! Here I am, king of a broken kingdom, listening to these two. But they are our only hope for survival._ Asgore then thought, _when has Sans ever actually let him down? _

_Never,_ his mind supplied helpfully; his ill expression turned to one of uttermost confidence at the reminder. _Everything will be fine_—_trust them!_

Suddenly, the great doors burst open.

The temperature seemed to drop; a chill crawling down his spine as his heart beat furiously against his chest, feeling it plummeting—down, down, down . . .

Feeling faint, Asgore righted himself in a second, defiantly meeting the sight before him with a pleasing countenance. _Time to put on a friendly face. It's just a child_—_focus!_

_The child . . . Is that a human?_ Looking into the glassy eyes, the . . . thing didn't seem all that human. Were his subjects correct in assuming this was a human, not a monster? Surely we still have unidentified species to find? _No, impossible!_ thought Asgore furiously—he knows all his subjects!

And _this_ was not one of them.

"Hello! Lovely day we are having, aren't we?" said Asgore with as bright and welcoming a smile as possible. He forced himself to look at the human before him, the bloodlust clear in their petrifying gaze.

"Strange . . " Asgore mused out loud. "You remind me . . of somebody I used to know. A long time ago," he added in a melancholy tone, "back when my son still lived. You remind me a lot of his dear friend . . . Somebody we accepted into our family."

The child stared back through his fringe, face blank of emotions. Nothing gave them away.

They inched closer.

Asgore willed himself not to move. He dared not move.

"Well then," he intoned amiably, attempting to break the ice, "would you like to have a cup of tea? I'll say, you look like you could use one—"

_(That's it, Frisk_—_closer!)_

"—or two."

Feeling a pull stirring within his SOUL, Asgore thought in despair, what a way to meet his end. He wished for it not to hurt, as his eyes darted towards the razor-sharp old-looking knife.

"now!" a voice cut through the deathly silence, and then: chaos.

Asgore dared not look, shutting his eyes tightly, the ensuing battle—or japes—happening like a racket around him. Unless his sanity left him, Asgore swore he heard the lad cry out, "HUMAN! TASTE MY DELICIOUS CONFECTIONS!" feeling the splatter and taste of _overly-sweet marinara?_ on his lips and some cold sauce on parts of his furred face. Then, screams of frustration—_that poor child,_ he snickered like a kid internally. _My cloak's surely ruined by now._ Suddenly, a shriek rang out like some sort of dying banshee, only to be stilled by a silence that seemed to buzz in their heads—save the birds; they sang on, blissfully ignorant. _Don't tell me_—_!_

Asgore, deciding that perhaps now it was safe to look, willed himself further still for his gut not to spill out any of his breakfast or lunch. The scene that greeted him was nothing too grisly, but still unnerving. _It never truly gets easier._

Blood. Noodles. Wait, those are not—

With a lurch, Asgore collapsed and threw up the contents of his stomach, completely ruining his regal cloak and whatever modicum of dignity he had left.

"well asgore," he heard Sans say as he continued to vomit on his beautiful flower garden, "we did it." He could feel the skeleton's stare, most likely amused by his undignified form. _Unbelievable,_ thought Asgore, sick as could be. _This monster has completely ruined their way of life, yet I still can't bear it! Shall I lower my head in shame for my reaction? For empathizing with the enemy?_ Whatever that monster was, Asgore then studied Sans from the ground, who looked on stoically at the half-dead child. _The way Sans is handling it, not a single shred of innocence was left to mourn over. Sans is right. He always is_—_isn't he?_

Sighing at his current predicament, Sans moved his eyes away, sparing Asgore further humiliation. "thank you for cooperation. we will be taking the human back to snowdin now."

Papyrus seemed just as unaffected. He approached Asgore, patting him on the back one last time. "THERE, THERE, YOU BIG FLUFFY PUSHOVER. IT IS OVER NOW! YOU HAVE DONE US A GREAT SERVICE—THERE IS MUCH TO BE PROUD OF, MY KING!" Papyrus then gestured gallantly towards a cage of bones to the left of the entrance.

His eyes watering from the force of his sickness, Asgore looked.

He quickly covered his mouth, tasting the sick coming up, eyes widening at the sight before him. _In the name of all that is good in the world_—_!_

The child was gored up from a cage made of sharp-hewed bones that protruded from their torso, skull, and other parts of their little body, their face covered in spaghetti and marinara sauce—a rasping, rattling breath could be heard from the back of their throat. The noodle-like substances were indeed the human's innards and guts that spilled out from the protrusions created in their belly by every stab wound. Sans didn't seem all that bothered by the lack of grace in his attack—it was dirty, careless. The way Asgore imagined trapping the human greatly differed from Sans; a warded conjured cell would have sufficed. Instead, Asgore was treated to the violent image of a human child bearing scary resemblance to Asriel's adopted brother, bound to the cage.

He could not lie to himself. _This is not_—_and will never be!—okay._ Asgore, unable to take it any longer, looked away from the grisly scene.

"J-just," choked Asgore, trying to collect himself as best he could, only to feel sicker than ever before, his hand falling from his mouth and now grasping at grass knots, "just go." He gasped, feeling his throat burning with acid and constricting, feeling more sickness coming up. "P-please. You have done your job—please, leave."

Asgore struggled to his feet and strode out. Out of view, he bounded desperately back to his house to sick up some more, clean up, and have a good, long bath. He had a feeling he would not sleep soundly tonight.

Unknown to him, before Asgore left his throne room, the skeleton brothers complied. They had gone, along with the dying child. _Sweet mercy._ Asgore closed his eyes in relief, sighing as bubbles covered his muzzle.

* * *

They arrived in the middle of a flurry of snow, right by the bridge leading to Waterfall.

"WELL, SANS, WE DID IT!" Papyrus cried out triumphantly, jumping around in his excitement. "WE FINALLY DID IT!"

"that we did, pap, that we did," Sans grinned at Papyrus, dragging the body behind him. He stilled and looked up at the darkening sky. _All this trouble for a human child. Time to end this,_ thought Sans resolutely. "so."

"SO!" Papyrus stopped his victory dance, turning back to the eldest. "WHO WILL DO THE HONORS, BROTHER?"

Sans, grateful for the accepting attitude of their time loop, said as they took a walk towards Snowdin, "you do the honors, pap."

Papyrus looked down at the human, bloodied and bound, as they walked, Sans dragging them by their mangled foot. "GREAT! WELL," said Papyrus as they stopped in the center of town, "NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT!"

"agreed," Sans nodded proudly, grinning with satisfaction.

Papyrus conjured one of the Blasters he kept in a box in the living room. _Why he does that when he could just conjure one of thin air is anybody's guess._ "READY, SANS!"

"well, what'd ya waiting for, papyrus?" Sans said smoothly. "go for it—you deserve it. and pap?"

"YES, OH DEAR BROTHER OF MINE?"

"i think undyne would have been very proud of you."

Papyrus swelled up with pride, and let his Blaster incinerate the child until nothing was left but ashes.

"ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT!"

"Right," Papyrus heard the king breathe out in a raspy voice in front of them.

"OH WOWIE! WE'RE BACK IN THE THRONE ROOM!" He gasped. "IT'S OUR NEW SAVE POINT! MAKES SENSE, DOESN'T IT, SANS?"

"guess it does, pap. this is, after all, where the human was before getting beaten to a pulp. wouldn't make sense to start in snowdin all mangled up. good catch, pap," winked Sans.

Papyrus beamed, grinning widely and eyes glimmering. "SO WHAT NOW? GO THROUGH THE SAME PLAN AGAIN," said Papyrus, eyes twinkling with adoration and triumph, "OH BROTHER OF MINE?"

"not so sure anymore. i would prefer having the king out of harm's way." His eyes closed, sighing. "we are out of time. let's try taking the human straight back to snowdin this time around," said Sans, grinning like the devil, "unwounded."

"WORRY NOT, BROTHER! I KNOW JUST WHAT TO DO!"

The doors burst open like last time, followed by that same chilling sensation. Papyrus felt the king stagger backwards, only to recover his posture immediately.

"Hello! Lovely day we are having, aren't we?" rumbled Asgore amiably, genuine warmth in his welcome.

_I can't understand how that pushover can let himself be so vulnerable,_ Papyrus thought as he held onto the plate of spaghetti at the ready. _Then again, who am I to think that?_

_Wasn't I the same way once upon a time?_

Sans, to his right, glared at Papyrus as if Sans was telling him to do it . . . _now? Oh! Now!_

Papyrus stepped stealthily to his left as Asgore uttered, "Strange . . ." then aimed and launched the spaghetti at the human. The marinara splattered onto their widened eyes. The child screamed, the acid of the tomato sauce seeping into their eyesight.

_Perfect! A direct hit for the Great Papyrus!_

Just as the human frantically tried to rub off the sauce from their eyes, Sans rushed from the right and lunged straight at the human. Papyrus followed on the left and yanked at the human's left arm, as Sans grabbed hold of the right. "READY!" yelled out Papyrus. Sans quickly nodded in response, as all three disappeared out of the king's sight.

The last thing Papyrus saw was King Asgore—a sigh of relief with grateful, yet disbelieving, eyes rolling up, his heavy-set fluffy body in kingly regalia, robes swirling among the buttercups, toppling to the ground—mid-fainting.

A harsh blizzard greeted Papyrus as they appeared back at Snowdin. _We must be at the bridge again, _concluded Papyrus as his boots clinked on frozen wood. He could hear Sans's slippers slip and shuffle on the icy surface, nearly falling face-forward as he still clung on to the human.

Reacting fast, Papyrus conjured a bone cage to bind the human in place before they regained their eyesight. The frigid, piercing winds whirling around them muffled the human's dying cries. Papyrus met his elder brother's eyes; Sans looked particularly pleased, given the circumstances, pupils dancing in revelry.

_This win calls for a celebration! It's as good as it gets_—_I know we both feel it in our bones; I'm sure of it! _

With silent communication, they both let go of the human's tomato-covered arms.

"YOU DO IT THIS TIME," cried out Papyrus to Sans amid the concluding fray, wanting so badly to move on to the next.

"right," Sans replied in short as he conjured a Blaster, aiming at the child's head. The incandescent, blistering heat scorched away flesh and bone, the smoking stench of burning bone and flesh blending in the wind.

"One hundred and nine!" crowed the brothers as they embraced each other tightly, jumping up and down and whooping like idiots drunk on victory. With a final victory yell, Papyrus said as soberly as he could manage: "SANS! A QUESTION!"

"an answer," chuckled Sans amid the gust of snow. "what is it pap?"

"WILL WE SPAWN BACK IN SNOWDIN NOW?"

Sans hummed in contemplation, arms still wrapped around Papyrus. "we just might, pap. we just might."

"SANS?"

"what?"

"WILL IT GET EASIER?"

A moment's silence passed, then Sans uttered: "undoubtedly."

* * *

Author's Note: The end nears.

Leave a review and the like. Thanks for sticking with me, readers.


	12. Let It Die

"Nothing in sacrifice is put off until later—it has the power to contest everything at the instant that it takes place, to summon everything, to render everything present. The crucial instant is that of death, yet as soon as the action begins, everything is challenged, everything is present." - George Bataille, 'Inner Experience'

* * *

"WILL IT GET EASIER?"

The wind whistling at his back, Papyrus frowned. _That's strange. _

Back in Snowdin. Back in the middle of a snow flurry, boots shuffling in the snow— _Wait, snow? But it can't be—! This isn't the shortcut! _Then Papyrus chanced a look at their surroundings.

All three of them—Sans, Papyrus and Frisk between Grillby's and the local shop—stood apart in the middle of town.

* * *

_This is it, Frisk . . . At last. At long last . . . _

Frisk twitched, right hand trembling as they firmly grasped the knife, palms growing sweaty.

_What are you waiting for, Frisk? _

_Do it . . . _

_Step forward. _

Frisk stood by defiantly with a feeble shake of their head.

_I'm waiting . . . _

_Step . . . forward . . . _

Squinting from the strain of the strong voice of their head, Frisk's knees shook as they continued standing.

_I'm waiting . . . Step forward. _

Frozen in place, Frisk stayed as still as the pillars of that beautiful corridor.

_Have I not made myself clear, partner? We are equals in this, are we not? Step. Forward. _

Frisk shook their head again, furiously as tears gathered at the corners of their eyes.

_Step— _Frisk flinched, shaking all over _—FORWARD! _

Frisk heard themselves walking one step forward, the footfall muffled by the blanket of snow beneath them. They felt cold to the core, sickened

_Very good, _cooed Chara. _Keep going. _

_No, Chara! That's enough—! _

_I will say when it's enough, Frisk! You are at my mercy, at my beck and call—you're nothing without me; an empty vessel only waiting to be filled by a higher power. You are a pathetic mount of flesh. We are only equals in that we have the same goal in mind—wishing for an end that we can both be satisfied with. _

_Since you still doubt me . . . Prostrate yourself before me. _

"What_ — _?" whispered Frisk, the cold wind biting at their cheeks, before the voice loudly interrupted, uttering smoothly, like the devil's caress: _Bow down to your master. _

_Well, Frisk? What are you waiting for? _

_Bow to me! On the ground . . . _

_NOW! _

Gulping and breathless, Frisk gave a frightened yelp, involuntarily throwing themselves forward onto the snow-covered ground. Is it the snow or the voice making them chilled to the bone? Frisk could no longer tell the difference. But god, they wanted out so badly.

_God help me. Somebody, anybody, please— _

_There is no help for you in our special hell, Frisk. This beautiful hellscape is ours for the taking. Come, my vessel—stand! _

Frisk stood up on shaky legs, control denied yet again.

_Excellent. Great as always, partner. _

_Now. Knife up, Frisk. _

The knife held aloft, Frisk shivered, mouth quivering from the fear shaking them to the core.

_Kill yourself. _

With a scream, Frisk slashed at their own throat, losing consciousness slowly as the blood let out upon the snow_ — _a grotesque painting of carmine tainting the beautiful white expanse surrounding them.

* * *

"WILL IT GET_ — _"

"papyrus, look out!" yelled out Sans.

With a blink, Sans pushed the human before they could make it to Papyrus. As the human lay on the ground, gnashing their teeth in frustration, Papyrus responded, "GOT IT, BROTHER!"

With a war cry, the human, tears and snot running down their face, raised their knife to counter, only to be promptly decapitated with a swing of Papyrus's conjured bone scythe, the brown-haired head landing with a soft thud onto the achromatic ground, sullying it red as it sprayed squirts of blood from exposed arteries.

"SO BROTHER, WHAT NUMBER IS THAT? ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN?"

Sans looked contemplative, the top of his eye sockets furrowing and giving away any semblance of a frown on his grinning face, saying: "i'm not sure it is. we already faced the human here . . . but it doesn't feel right. know what i mean?"

"YES. SOMETHING IS WRONG. IT'S NOT ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN, IS IT?"

"no," confirmed Sans in a low voice, expressive pupils studying the headless human. "no, it is not."

Papyrus nodded solemnly. "RIGHT THEN. ONE HUNDRED AND TEN IT IS!"

* * *

"WILL IT GET EASIER—?

"I highly doubt it, the not-so-great Papyrus!" he heard the human utter in a sneer, then suddenly made their approach in a rush, every little footfall landing with a faint _splosh! _of snow beneath their shoes.

In a blink, Papyrus conjured his bone-turned-scythe, blocking the knife with a swift _clang! _

"Ooo," cooed the human mockingly, "fast one, are you?"

"FASTER THAN YOU, HUMAN!" he said brazenly, countering the next strikes with a ringing _cling!_ _and clang! _in the wind, wielding and swinging his scythe with rapid precision; they moved blindingly fast. "THE GREAT PAPYRUS NEVER GIVES UP!"

"Oh but you will!" Frisk said, grinning maliciously. "You will prostrate yourself before your king!" The clashing of blades continued to chime irregularly, the reverberation of blades singing. "A king that will govern nothing and everything," said the human, eyes promising unending terror, "forever!"

"NOT IF" — _RING! _— "I CAN" — _CLANG! _— "HELP IT!"

The child cackled maniacally at him, swinging their knife adeptly—every slash promising death, uttering in a fierce chant: _"Time is short," _— _CLING! _— _"hell is hot," _— _CLANG! _— _ "the king is coming," _— _CHING! _— _"ready or not!" _

"enough!" cried out Sans, and in a blink lasting less than half a second, the human's SOUL held up high up above the ground, knife-hand limp as they gasped for breath, was unceremoniously thrust onto Grillby's east wall, the wood of the cabin splintering apart at the force of the throw, a brief puff of sawdust and plaster appearing at the impact site.

Coughs and groans could be heard amidst the wreckage. Papyrus peered at Sans with a nod of thanks, then strode in sync with Sans towards the destroyed part of the bar.

There the human lay, splinters big and small marring the child's body as they bled at the crown of their head, looking woozy.

Papyrus went to the human, only to be stopped by Sans. "let me," he said softly.

His younger brother hmphed petulantly. "FINE! BE QUICK, BROTHER."

"oh i will," said Sans. A wave of his hand, and he was armed with a conjured blunt femur.

"hey. buddo," he spoke down at Frisk—deadpan. "no taking the easy way out this time, ok?"

And with a flourish, Sans clouted Frisk on the head, knocking them dead.

"One hundred and eleven!" the skeleton brothers cried out with audacious glee.

* * *

"undoubtedly," said Sans.

_Goddamnit, it's happened again_—_and now what?_ _Can't see a damn thing. A blizzard? Come ON!_

"WORRY NOT, DEAR BROTHER, I GOT THEM!" _CRASH! _

"papyrus!" cried out Sans, trying to pinpoint where the sound came from.

"OVER HERE, SANS—BY THE LIBRARY! TURNED THEM BLUE AS SOON AS THE HUMAN LOADED!"

Traversing as fast as he could through the blinding blizzard, Sans made it to Papyrus. He could make out a Frisk-shaped gap in the window to the left of the door; the glass that remained was fractured, shards with blood at the edges.

"looks like you took care of the problem, pap!" he yelled through the loud wind of the snowstorm. Door to the library locked shut, Sans jumped through the broken window inside, Papyrus at the rear. The human lay bloody, mangled and splayed against the wooden counter, books that once stood on it scattered about. "well, that will be one hundred and—"

"E-enough . . ." a whimper came from the wounded child, never having sounded so innocent and worn in this life. "No more . . . enough. Please— Kill me . . ."

"HUMAN? I MEAN— FRISK? IS THAT REALLY YOU?"

The child nodded weakly at them from their uncomfortable position, trying to arch his head up to look at them, but unable to do so—they hissed at the pain in their neck; a thin splinter penetrated through flesh, missing a major artery by an inch. They sniffled as they sobbed pitifully. "I am—"

But just as soon as they saw Frisk, their visage changed dramatically: their pained grimace turned into a facsimile of a friendly smile, their eyes glinting like ice, hooded partially as if they were on the verge of napping after a read in bed, looking much too comfortable in their twisted body. Still a child, yet not remotely close to the same in expression—the new inhabitant was perverse, violating the body in spirit and mind as they lay motionless.

The human smiled grimly at the skeleton brothers, eyes gleaming with tears that did not belong to them. "Hello. Take a gander at who I am, Sans?"

"No."

Then. They saw it. The real human.

Their eyes and mouth were like gaping black holes, fathomless like the darkest of trenches. It has been many battles ago that they gathered their magic together to attack in tandem—that stunt scared the human good; but not enough to make them stop. No, the human was determined to end both their lives then, and determined now.

That terrific, otherworldly stare now froze the brothers in place, mesmerizing in its terrible monstrosity.

"I͘ am Ch̸͘͜͝ar̡͟a̴̴̛͡͝."

"W-WAIT," stuttered Papyrus, the name a malediction; his weary bones tingled in alarm in confirmation, the terror sown in him like seeds nourished by an abject fear, the waking tendrils growing like vines around his psyche—the strangulation constricting his thought process. His elder brother looked no better than Papyrus did at this nightmarish junction. "WHO?"

"I am them . . .

"C̴̶͙̟̠̕͟h̸͏a̺̯͖͎͙͚̰̭͖͇̩r̴̙̮̭͉̱͝a̼͇̙̭͓̼̬͖̦̣̳̮̟̩̠͖̳̥̘̺͈͜͠," the child with the empty stare uttered, a bizarre, blissful smile upon their face.

"I a̕m̧ ţh͏e ̧curio͢s͘ity th͏at̕ ̵d̴ri̶v̧e̴s ̷all ̸huma͏ns to҉ ̷d̛o t̡he ho҉rri̷ble҉. Th҉e ͏dem̡o̕n th̸at comes̵ w͟he̕n͝ ҉peo͜ple c͘a̕ll its̨ nam̷e. It d͠oesn̕'t̢ ͠m̛at̸t͘er w͘he͞n.̢ ̸I͞t͜ ͟doesn'͞t ͢matt̛e͠r̛ ̨wh͜er̷e. ͟Ti̵me aftȩr͡ ̨ti͘me, I͘ will appe̷ar. A҉nd ̷wi͜t͡h F̧͎͝͞r̠ì̡̛̦̖̟͚̘̲̭͉͈̳ͬͤͬ͋̇̊͛ͦ̚̕s̥͉̉̊͜͡k̂́ͦ̎͛̾҉͎͈͙̰̞̗s͢ ͘h̶elp, ͡we͟ will̨ er̢a̴dicat̨e t̡he enemy͞ a͟nd̶ beco͏m̛e ̴s҉trong.

"H҉̨P̢," the human continued in a quiet, discordant voice, "AT̡͞K.̴͘̕ Ḑ̧EF. GO̕LD.҉ EX̵̢͜P͡. LV҉. ҉̨E̵ve̡̛r̛y̵̨͢ t͏i͠m͝e a̧͞ nu҉͏̴m̵͘͡ber incŗ͟eases̵̨ w͘͡it̴͠h͜in̨ ̛͝t̶̸hi҉s ̷v͟e̕ss̴̢͝el̡, t̡͟͠h̛at f̡͟͜eeli̡n̵͠͠g̷͟͝ ̨̢͡.̶͟ ̡͠͝.̵͝ ̕.҉ ̵͟Th͢a͟͏͜t's̢͟ ̸me͡͝͡—̶̸̸̠̘̘͓̱͎͔͈͓̗͔͔͎͡F̧͎͝͞r̠ì̡̛̦̖̟͚̘̲̭͉͈̳ͬͤͬ͋̇̊͛ͦ̚̕s̥͉̉̊͜͡k̂́ͦ̎͛̾҉͎͈͙̰̞̗,̕ ̡or a͟͢͝n̵̴y͢ o͡the͡r ̢̧̨hu̴̶͢m͘͢an̸ wh̴o ͞po͢ss҉̴es͞s̴̛e͝s this͠ m̕͢͢oun͢d ͠of fle̶̢sh͡ ͞҉͞an̷͟͟d̢̨ ̕b̢̨o̷n͝͝͝e.

"T͘h̴̵i͏s̴ ͏S̵͡O̵͠UL ̴͢͜r̸̶es̶o҉nates ̷wit҉͘h͝ a̷͟͢ st̷̕͢r̴a͜ng҉͢͜e̕ ͞͡f̶̨ee͏l̷i̢n͞g. ̸̕Th͝e̴̷̷re̵ ̡͜͠i̛͝s ̸͜͜ą̸͞ ͝re̶͡as͘͜on̡ ̸̸̠̘̘͓̱͎͔͈͓̗͔͔͎F̧͎͝͞r̠ì̡̛̦̖̟͚̘̲̭͉͈̳ͬͤͬ͋̇̊͛ͦ̚̕s̥͉̉̊͜͡k̂́ͦ̎͛̾҉͎͈͙̰̞̗co͟nt̶͜͡i̧nu̴͞҉es̶ to͟͏̶ r͜͝͠ȩ͞͡crea͘͏te ͝this ͡wo̵̡͠rld̵̛.̡͟͜ There i̸̕҉s̸͏ ͏̨a͝ ͏r̷̢͘ea͏͜so͢͏n t͝he̕͏̴y ̵̨̕c̛o͡nti͜҉nu͜͏e̷̡ ͢to d͞e҉҉s̨͜troy̵̵͞ ͞i͏t. O̶͜͡u̕r̸͞ ͜͜͟belov͠҉e͢d F͠risķ i͠͞͞s̨ ͡w͞ŗ̶ac͢͞k̛̛͘e̢͘d ҉̵̕w̸̛͜ith a pe̵͏rv̷̶͢ert̡e҉͝d̴͘ ̨s̸͝e͠͝nt͜͡i̷͞me̷̸n̛ţ̛ali̵̛͝ty̷͡ ̷̧͏f̛or͡ ҉̴҉t̨h̵̕͜at̸͟ ͜҉̡that͘͢ t̶͠͝hey ̕͡ca̧nn̢͜o̸̢͜t̴ ̶̨͘have̵. But ͏even͘ ͠st͏͡i̴̷ll . . ." They hummed. "I̕ ca͢nnot͞ u͡n̨d͞erstan͢d̕ su͟ch ̕feeļin̶gs ͜an̕y mo̵re̶.̷ D͞es͡pi͜te̕ ͟th̡is̸.͟ I͡ fe̕lt o͟b̨li̴gated to su̡gge҉st͟ t͢hat s͟hould̢ ̸̸̠̘̘͓̱͎͔͈͓̗͔͔͎F̧͎͝͞r̠ì̡̛̦̖̟͚̘̲̭͉͈̳ͬͤͬ͋̇̊͛ͦ̚̕s̥͉̉̊͜͡k̂́ͦ̎͛̾҉͎͈͙̰̞̗ ͞choose ͜tǫ ͟r҉ecrea̵t͢e t͢he w͟orld onc̴e͞ mo̡re̶, ̴a͢n̴ot͘her pa̛t̢h wo̢uld be ͞b͡et͢t̵er͟ suited͞. ̡'N͟ow͜͏,̶̵ ͘͟͠p҉̴̧ar҉͞t̸̡͡ne̸̕̕r,̵̡̛͜'̸̧̕͢ ̴I s͟ai̡d̶ un̷to ͡t̨hem, '͜͡Ļ̵ȩ͠t̴͜͢ ̛͝us ̶̕̕͝send̛͘͞͠ t̵̕͢his̡͡ ̸̧̕w̛͘͢͡o͢҉rl͞d̷͟ ̸̸̷b͜͢͏a͏҉ck̶̨͟͝ in̡̡҉t̵͞o͏̵̧ ̶͞the̷̕ ̶̷̧a̧͟by̴̛şs̵.̛͏̷̴̢'͢ A͠nd diḑ ̸̸̠̘̘͓̱͎͔͈͓̗͔͔͎F̧͎͝͞r̠ì̡̛̦̖̟͚̘̲̭͉͈̳ͬͤͬ͋̇̊͛ͦ̚̕s̥͉̉̊͜͡k̂́ͦ̎͛̾҉͎͈͙̰̞̗ ͟listen?͟ Yes—time a͠nd ̵time͞ agai͠n. Bu͠t ̢ho̴w about ̷th̵i̧s͢ ̛ti̢me? C͞an͝ th̵e͠y͘ do i̸t? ͠D̷o they con͘t̛in͞u҉e to des̛i̶r̡e ͘t͟o͘ d̢o w͝hat must ̵b̨e d҉o͏ne? ͟To͏ ex͜ha̡u҉st ̢all͜ possibilit̶ies a̛nd͘ se͜nd o͟ur u̡niv̢erse in͝to͡ ̡a b͠la͝c̡k pit,̵ ţo be̴ ͞fo̧rgo̴tten̨ a͏n̷d͘ s̨t̕i̕ll? No—but. ̸̸̠̘̘͓̱͎͔͈͓̗͔͔͎F̧͎͝͞r̠ì̡̛̦̖̟͚̘̲̭͉͈̳ͬͤͬ͋̇̊͛ͦ̚̕s̥͉̉̊͜͡k̂́ͦ̎͛̾҉͎͈͙̰̞̗ ̷ha̧s҉ both f̧a͟iled ̴and ͟succe̡ede̡d be̷a̴ut̡i̡f̧ul̵ly.̛ ͏Yo̡u ̸bot̶h ar̶e my̡ gr̷ęat̶est ͝re͜war͠d. I̸ ̕co͢uld̡ ͡n͡o͜t have asked͜ for a b͘e̶tt̛e̡r ou҉tcome.

"N͜o͜w. My ͝v̧ess҉el ̧d̸ies. If th̢ey c̕are about ͢you so, ̧I̧ shall͠ ͞neve͏r come ҉b̷ąc͜k͜ a͢gain. But.̕ ̵A̵s a ̷co͜n̛se͘q̕ue҉n̢ce: ͏neit̶h͏er ̨will͟ ţh͢e̷y̷. ͏Y͝ou sha͝ll con̛t͝in͡ue ̧to̕ r͢esi̶d͘e͝ in th͢i̶s bro͟k̢e̡n ̢wor͜l͡d. Ąn҉d ҉I s̡ḩall h̵a҉unt̕ ͡other ̶un͠iver̛s̸es ͢f̨o̷rev͏e͝rm̡ore. ̨There͠ is ̨n͝o end ̕t͡o m̵e.͢ G̶oo҉d͠by̨e," they said, and with a swift slide of the knife, the human slit their throat, their last expression fixed in ecstasy.

* * *

"The thunderbolt blazing in the sky is the brightness of death itself. My mind raves in the sky. Never does the mind rave so well as in its dying." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

Author's Note: It can be the end.


	13. roughdraftBiUCh00

G̼̀r͙͈͍͒̾̀̚e̤̤̻̓̉̔e̊t͍̟̹̽͂ͨi͍ͮn̘̲͑̑͘g̘̳ͨ̊s̡,̥͙̾̏ ̢r̦̯̻͑ͧ͋e̕ȧ̜̯̉de̽r͒͏s.͒  
͉̲̣͑̓̏  
T̗͙̀̊h͔̦̭̓̀̆è̻ ͇̘aúṭ̬̔ͯh͘oȑ̶ ̧̗̗ͦ̓d̨o̫͉eṡ̸͉ ͏n̸̜̮̼̔̂̓o͓̫̩͜t ͖ͫd̫̬ͤͦe̺͉ŝ̡̓e͕̹rv̭͈̭̍ͪ̀́ė͖͠ ̈́̌́ṯ̼̟̀͒ͧo͕͎̮ m̭̯͒̾ạ̖͑ͩk̡̼͈̿͂e̸͚̥̅̃ ̵̐̌th̥ͣẹ̰͌̆ c͛͗҉ḫ̮o̵̍ic̙͎͗̐͠e̾̊̂̕s̹͖̠̽ͤ̌͜ i̱n̙͙͈̍͌̋ ̠̜̼̿̒̋t̰̦͕̾ͮ̈h̨i̳s̲̭̝̓̓̚ ̸ͮ̄ẅ̳̼͉́̐ͮorlḏ̨ͫ.͏ ͕̋Y̴o̡̪ͫu ̭̅͘a̤̖̥̕r̩͞e̥̱̩ ̯̩̱ͩͪ̿͝l̎i̷̤̘̙k̮̟ͅe̎͆ͭ ̔̚m̟̫̤̂ͫ́e̺̗͓, ̔̈i̪̼̬ͨ̓͐n ̦̃a͘ ́w̝̅a̬͎̞ͮ͐̈́͡y̕.̃͊ ̷͆̌M҉a̤ͨk͏ẹͮ ̂ͪ̄͠yͦͭ̚o̰̭̠͒͑̀u͔r̗̋ ̺̪̂̒c̢̣͈͈ͫͧ̊h̘̫̄͒o͕͈ic͙e͈̽.̹̦ͯͤ ̷̩͇̪ͯ͋̃G̨̹̝i̭ͫv͕̞͇ͣ̿͂͠e̖̯̝ͣ̾̓ t͈̿̕ḣ̓em̝̏ ̛͖ẗh̨ḛ̙͛ͩḭ͇̟r̀̎ ̮̞̜̒͌ͭ'̤̻̱̃ͮ̎̕H̹̳̘ͨ̒̆aͯ͆p̴̘̽p̢y̹͖̩̏́͑͞ Ever̮̠͐ͨ ̪͗Ạ̺̼͌̉͒f͉̂t̤̝͍̑̑̉e̺͈̩ͦ͑͋r̞͇̣̾̍̔'̗̈,̟̯̱ͩ̓̔ ͕̟̽͒o̬ͫr̡ ͘ǵ͖͕̹i͜v͇ͨ͠e̳̟̿̓ ̻̖̰̽̿̉͜i̜̬͑ͪn҉ t̖̝͂̚o̗̖̟ ͟t̺ͭh̞at̺̤̄ͯ ͇͖͋ͦp̎ͧē̩̪ͦ̏ͅr̨̋͗vë́̓҉͇̜r̜̱̤ͮ́ͨt̶͓̜̺̃̎̄ē̗͔̃͂ͅd ̧̙s̏ͭen҉͍̩t̘͕͑̐i͠m̞͛͘én̸ta̲̿l͈͇̤͒̆̑͘it̴ͩ̐̀y̱̩̲̓͐ͮ.͎̟̥̍̇ͪ

strawpoll DOT me/21102224/r


	14. finaldraftBiUCh00

Y̡ou̵ ha҉ve c̷hosęn̶ ̛wis͏e̶ĺy.  
My ̢f͠u̡n̶ ̴ma̵y b̢e ̸en̢d҉ed in҉ this w̨or̷ld͞, ̷but̡ ̡I'҉ll̕ hop elsewh͏ere̛ ͞for̷ ̵an̴o̕the̴r ŕoun͞d. The̷y̶ need͢ onl͞y҉ ̸ca̛ll ̢my name͞.  
F͜a̵rewell҉, p͘art̨ner̕. ͞And don̨'͞ţ yơu͠ wo͠ŕry a͜b̀ǫut͘ yo̡ur̷ ̨.͜ ̵. ̢.͞ f͏r̶ieńd҉s. T̵hey ar̕e͞ s̕áfe. ͜They̡ ͢wil͠l kno͢w no͏ ho̶rror͏ ̴- o͡nly pea̛c͜e.͘


End file.
